


Cloud Nine

by notquitejiraiya (lethargicshadowlover)



Category: Naruto
Genre: Affairs, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Arrest, Bassist Shikamaru, Eventual Smut, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, KibaIno - Sideship, Neji/Temari relationship, Pining, Rivalry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:55:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 40,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24115378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lethargicshadowlover/pseuds/notquitejiraiya
Summary: Cloud Nine is a band; a band doing well for themselves against all odds. But, despite all they have, their bassist remains unsatisfied, and he's not the only one.Why is it you always want what you can't have?
Relationships: Nara Shikamaru/Temari
Comments: 160
Kudos: 100





	1. Neji's Girl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to @loknnica for reminding me of the awesomeness that is 'Jessie's Girl' by Rick Springfield and being inspiring as all hell!
> 
> courtesy of her and Mr Springfield, I bring you Cloud Nine

Eyelids drooping and head cocked to one side, Shikamaru gently plucked the E string, letting the vibrations travel up from the floor and resonate in his chest. He felt the sweat drip from his brow and ash fall from the end of the cigarette balancing between his lips as he played. Totally lost in himself and the complex sequence he’d grown so used to performing, he permitted himself a glimpse of the sea of people ahead of him. Audience interaction wasn’t his specialty, but for some reason on the rare occasions he’d steal a glance into the crowd they would erupt, as though they cared. He would smile and pretend to acknowledge the cheers, but the reality was always the same: he was always looking for her.

And of course his eyes found her; they never failed to.

While the distraction of catching sight of her made every note he played feel soulless and wrong, the most damage it caused was a mere shiver as he pushed off against the amp he’d been leaning on and found his footing.

Still, obstructive or not, everything had most certainly been easier before her presence had become regular. Every time he spotted her he longed for the good old days—back when no stranger knew his name and the people stood before him were just his friends. Way back when his friends had begged him to join this band as a passion project, expecting nothing from it, he had agreed reluctantly without considering the implications. Shikamaru was never one to just do it, not without careful consideration, but that one quick decision had brought him right here: losing himself in the music he performed to just over one thousand people, and losing himself in those impossibly beautiful eyes.

Eyes which didn’t stare back at him, but instead smiled brighter than any set of teeth in the room as they zoned in on the opposite side of the stage.

As the music lulled and their vocalist trailed off, Shikamaru took his opportunity to flick the ash off the end of his cigarette and cast his eyes to where her’s lay. Just as always his gut wrenched as he caught sight of the smirk on Neji’s face, and he had to keep himself from choking when his friend turned to him so pleased with himself. It seemed so wrong, feeling this way—it _was_. If Neji knew, he’d never forgive him; it wasn’t in his nature to do that, and why should he?

But he _didn’t_ know. He didn’t understand the way Shikamaru felt every time she looked his way, or how difficult it was not to grab her in his arms every time she passed him by. Shikamaru could only hope he never would.

Awkwardly, Kiba sidestepped over and nudged him, breaking his unwanted trance. “Okay,” the vocalist said, “you guys ready to feel on _Cloud Nine_?”

Shikamaru forced a smile and let his eyes flutter shut to avoid her, but there was no escaping the inevitable vision that always wormed its way behind his eyes as he busted out the opening riff.

* * *

“I know you, don’t I?”

Shikamaru didn’t turn his head as he rifled through the contents of his wallet. It wasn’t often he was recognised but with the amount he despised the experience it may as well have been every five minutes. “No,” he grumbled, “you _don’t_.” He tapped on the wood to get the attention of the bartender who catered to the dwindling number of patrons. “Another please, man.”

“And _I’ll_ have the same,” the voice erupted again, disgracefully bold and slurring slightly more than he was. “You’re Shikamaru Nara.”

He twisted his neck and readied himself to warn the woman away, but upon turning he found his lip caught between his teeth—unable to speak. Through the subtle blur that seven beers brought about he just about focused on her; blonde and head to toe in black. She perched on the barstool beside him, long legs crossed away from him, and he could see from the way she narrowed her eyes she wasn’t like the others—something about her just screamed trouble in a different, more appealing manner.

“So, maybe you _do_ know me,” he sighed, placing cash on the bar. “But _I_ don’t know _you_.”

A smirk twisted its way onto her lips. “You don’t?” He shook his head, placing his chin on his palm. “ _Christ_ , and I thought you were the smart one.”

Shikamaru raised his eyebrows. “I _am_ the smart one,” he scoffed.

“No hope for the rest of them then, is there?”

“I guess not.” With a gentle thud two pints landed before them, and Shikamaru raised his hand to the bartender through his laughter. His eyes narrowed and he watched her fingers fumble slightly as they gripped the glass. “So, you were here for the show?” he asked.

She shrugged and the strap of her tank edged off her shoulder, leaving a violet lace strap exposed. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“What did you think?” he mindlessly asked, painfully fixated by the curve of her neck.

There was a soft grunt as she took a sip of her drink. “ _Cloud Nine_ was the best.”

“The band or the song?"

She shrugged. "Both: good bass-lines."

“Feeding my ego, eh?” he chuckled as he tore his eyes away from the shadow of her collarbone to grab his beer, but after receiving no reply they shot straight back. “You alright?”

Glass in hand, her eyes were scanning the rest of the room, darting from person to person as she slowly twisted her body back towards him. Shikamaru couldn’t help but take that moment to examine the way her body curved in all the places he loved the most. Her hair barely stayed within the confines of the ponytail that spiked slightly above her head, and her bangs clumped with the slightest glimmer of sweat as strands clung to the back of her neck. He wasn’t embarrassed to admit it was doing it for him.

But then, as she turned back and her eyes locked on his once again, the fuzziness that littered his vision vanished. She came perfectly into focus, the rest of the room spinning around the two of them, and for a moment he felt time stop—a miraculously long second slowed only for him to indulge himself. He barely noticed the gap closing between them, only the way her eyes fluttered shut as her lips began to part. Within an instant he took it upon himself to close the damned gap, grabbing the small of her back and pulling her into the space between his legs as his lips smashed into hers.

Without a sound—except the faintest and most invigorating moan—the stranger’s hands caught the sides of his head, gently tugging dark hair from its ponytail as she moulded her body to his. Shikamaru smirked against her mouth when he felt her try to bite his lip, and held back a self-satisfied chuckle as she ground against him. He let his hands travel down to her hips, toying with the waistband of her jeans as he went, and gripped them tightly never wishing to let go. A shiver went down his spine as she whimpered at his touch, and this time he couldn’t help but grin.

“You want to get out of here?” he mumbled between her violent kisses, only to feel utterly empty when she pulled away, staring into his soul. She nodded with the most devilish look in her eye, and Shikamaru was just about ready to drag her into the nearest room with a lockable door when fate, as it always does, put its foot in his plans.

“Temari?”

Shikamaru’s eyes darted to his right. Looming over the pair of them was Kankuro, his keyboard slung under his arm and an almighty scowl painted across his brow. Shikamaru abruptly tore his hands from the woman’s hips and held back a whine as he felt her pressing touch fade into nothing.

Kankuro shook his head. “Good job I came back for this.” He nodded to the keyboard. “I didn’t expect to have to stop you going home with some stranger.”

Shikamaru grabbed his beer, fingertips shaking, and took a huge gulp. He needed a cigarette, and to escape the possibility of an argument—his head was too fuzzy for his.

“Shikamaru, I’m sorry about her,” his bandmate sighed. “My sister’s had too much to drink.”

He wanted to shrug and admit that so had he—far too much not to keep his hands off, or even stop staring at her at this very moment—but he could do little more than force down another sip. “Your sister,” he repeated quietly into the glass, cringing until he felt his own brain cave in. Immediately he knew he’d crossed a line, but that didn’t stop his heart racing when she whispered in his ear as her brother dragged her away:

“I’ll be back for you, bassist.”

* * *

Shikamaru squished the butt of his cigarette on the top of a coke can and dropped the remnants inside, listening closely for the gentle fizz that followed. But nothing, no sound in the world, could overpower her laughter and the way it flew through the room. It made it impossible for him not to raise his eyes to look at her. There she was, beside Neji, her legs wrapped in fishnets and draped across his lap, immersed in his every movement as he plucked away at Kiba’s worn out acoustic.

Every movement of her thighs gutted him, only fuelling the guilt, and he couldn’t help but wonder why the world played games like this. Why didn’t _she_ remember that evening all those months ago, and mull over every detail each time _he_ came into view? It was cutting. Now he knew what those lips tasted like, and the perfect rhythm with which they moved against his own, it felt criminal to see them kiss anyone else.

But he’d wasted too much time playing with ‘ _what if_ ’ since they’d met, and even more since this horrible new development had occurred. But he knew deep down there was nothing he could do about it. She was with Neji, and whether or not Shikamaru could pin why was irrelevant. It wouldn’t even have been an issue if she hadn’t started coming to rehearsals; not to pick up Kankuro like before, but to see her boyfriend—smothering him in front of Shikamaru as though it was a punishment for his internal torment. It crushed him whenever he saw Neji pull her close, or even when she brushed past his elbow on her way into the other man’s arms. To see it everyday was insufferable.

Each time they would soundcheck and she’d sit alone, crossed-legged in the centre of an empty room, she’d stare at him with obsessive eyes and follow his every minor movement. And, while he’d pretend he didn’t see and act as though he didn’t care, the feeling of her eyes on him drove Shikamaru mad. Instead of turning away, he wanted nothing more than to look straight at her and tell her the truth; how much of a privilege it was, when she sat there on the dusty floor and looked up at him, to be playing just for her.

“Shikamaru?”

He blinked rapidly to see Temari staring at him once more. Neji had disappeared from the couch beside her and the smirk on her lips was as painfully playful as always. Anxiously he shifted in his seat and reached for another cigarette. “What do you want _now_?” he groaned.

“Quick—while he’s gone.”

Temari extended her hand and pursed her lips, unimpressed, but all Shikamaru noticed was the dark colour painting those lips and how his friend’s mouth had held that same hue. Absentmindedly he threw the carton of cigarettes in her general direction, trying his best to pretend the two of them weren’t alone. Temari placed one between her lips before throwing back the carton. “I haven’t got my lighter,” she sighed. “Give it.”

Shikamaru shook his head and sat back as he lit his own cigarette. He refused to play these mind games with himself. Thinking childishly about what deep meaning these interactions might really hold did nothing but prolong his suffering. After all, it had surely been too long with nothing said for that night to mean anything to her at all.

“Shikamaru, give it.”

“No,” he laughed, smoke escaping his mouth as he spoke. “Get it yourself.” He didn’t wait for her to reply before adding, “You already steal my smokes—isn’t that enough for you?”

_And you drive me crazy to boot._

Temari jumped up from the couch and stormed towards him. She hauled him to his feet with one hand and delved into the pocket of his jeans with the other. “Oi!” he protested. “What the _fuck_ are you doing?”

He gulped and she cocked her head at him, looking up with narrow eyes that flashed a ferociousness too wild for her hand to be this close to his groin for much longer. “Getting it myself,” she sneered.

“You’re impossible,” Shikamaru groaned, tensing himself as he grabbed her wrist and jarred it away before the inevitable happened. “Get out of my damn pockets, woman!”

“Then just _give_ it to me.”

Her eyes tore through him, and the distance between them was too tiny to bear. It took every ounce of his will to keep his mouth shut and this far from those perfectly parted lips, and he swore from the way she blinked at him that she understood. “I said no, Temari,” he warned, bringing his own cigarette to his lips. Spitefully, he let the smoke spill into her eyes, desperate for her to get out of his face; for her to stop teasing him, intentional or not.

But she didn’t. Instead she snatched it from his fingertips, drawing on it and making a perfect ‘ _o_ ’ with her lips as the cloud drifted into his vision. For a moment he was blinded, and scrunched his nose up in annoyance. He felt safe in the knowledge that she’d now be satisfied enough to leave him alone, but when the air in front of his face cleared she was still there, cigarette hanging from the side of her mouth.

Shikamaru shoved his hands in his pockets as she cocked her head to one side, and gulped. Looming above her with her nose inches from his felt so right—so terribly satisfying. He was ready to grab her by her hips once again, tell her what for and force that cigarette from her mouth the right way, but, just as always, the man was totally powerless to her.

There was a reason Shikamaru would never accept hugs when she greeted him—he _couldn’t_ handle the fear of having to let her go. Just seeing her fall into arms that he wished were his own left him weak at the knees, longing for her bold touch. But seeing Neji’s strong arms surround her never failed to unearth how dirty he felt housing such feelings.

He didn’t deserve pity—it wasn’t like he would ever be deserving of her. He couldn’t sit there and say for certain that she was his one shot at happiness, nor could he expel the shame that accompanied this sad obsession. The moment he stepped out in front of a crowd, despite the fact he was _really_ just some loner with a smoker’s cough and a persistent headache, at least twenty-odd women wanted to jump him. There were plenty of them who wanted a shot with him. He _could_ just let them try.

The problem was just that none of them were ever her.

Dead-weight and unable to stand the battle behind his eyes, Shikamaru fell into the chair behind him and rolled them to the back of his head. Deep down it didn’t matter whether Temari watched him intently, or if he made her laugh or smile each day. None of that changed the fact she didn’t love him, that she never would; a crushing fact but a fact nonetheless, and one that Shikamaru wasn’t sure he’d ever come to terms with.

But he needed to.

“Want it back?” Temari mused, pulling on _his_ cigarette once again. She looked down at him as she stood between his legs with that garish grin he adored so much.

“Wow, I _really_ hate you,” he lied, the image of Neji’s kind eyes just clawing its way past that perfect memory of her in the bar.

Temari shook her head and tapped off the ash into the empty can beside him. “You’d miss me if I was gone.”

“Not a chance, love.”

_Liar._

Carefully she balanced his still-lit cigarette, now caked in her lipstick, atop the can. “I’d miss you,” she said indifferently, unaware of the way the words shot through his heart. “Even Neji can’t take a beating like you can.”

Shikamaru forced a smile and wrinkled his nose as if the double meaning lacing that sentence didn’t sicken him. “Don’t pretend you have a working heart, Temari,” he teased. “I know it’s black.”

She winked as she walked away and he held back a helpless whine. “You love me, really,” she smirked.

Oh, of course he did. How _couldn’t_ he?

Shikamaru tried his best to ignore the way her hips swayed as she abandoned him in favour of her lover, and set out to disregard the lipstick that littered the cigarette he lodged between his lips once she was finally out of sight.

If only he’d checked the pocket of his jeans for the tiny scrap of paper lodged inside before he hurled them in the washing machine that night.


	2. She's In Love With You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: 'She's In Love With You' by Suzi Quatro

Watching the guitarist— _her_ guitarist, the man who’d dipped in and out of her life for so many years, was mesmerising. His long hair danced with every movement of his body, and Temari couldn’t tear her eyes from the mastery he exhibited. She had been drawn to him ever since the first day he’d joined her and Kankuro’s walk from school ten years prior. Something about him had got under her skin, etched so deep they’d arrived at _this_ point in their life together, and pride filled her whenever she got to stand here amongst a thousand other sweaty bodies and watch him shine.

But the _bass_ is what shot straight through her; a bullet to the heart. It flew from the ground, buzzing up through every nerve until it reached her brain and polluted every sensical thought it housed. Her gaze may have sat firmly on her lover but only the faintest speck of concentration remained on him once she’d let that bass surround her. The rest, as terrible as it was, hurled its way to the opposite side of the room.

She didn’t need to look to see him. She could imagine every detail of his face through a haze of smoke and breath by merely blinking. For as long as it took her to open her eyes a million thoughts raced, fighting to be heard amongst the overpowering music and begging her to turn to him. But then she’d pry them open and stood before her, grinning to his friend, was Neji. _Her_ Neji.

“Okay.” Kiba’s voice echoed through the speakers; grounding her, calming her rapid thoughts momentarily. “You guys ready to feel on _Cloud Nine_?”

With those two words her head snapped round. She was grateful when his eyes squeezed shut, hiding her obsession from himself unintentionally, but every tap of his foot or wriggle of his fingers against the strings sent shivers through her. The moment she looked at him, examining every inch of his frame, everything she’d fought to hold back flooded through without delay.

Every note of that solo soared around her body and numbed her to reality. She wanted nothing more than to build her own from scratch, where every tiny detail stemmed from the moment she'd first met Shikamaru.

There was so little she remembered from that night in the bar—the evening her drunken stupor took charge and ruined every plan she’d ever made—but she could remember this song, and she could remember those fingers. She remembered the ferocity with which they had held her, and how intoxicating their touch felt against her back. She remembered the feel of _him_ , the stubble on his chin and the taste of smoke; a taste she longed for far too often. It haunted her every time she saw one of those little white sticks hanging from the side of his mouth, which—unfortunately for Temari—was _always_.

Temari had never been one to beat around the bush: the woman was about as subtle as an earthquake, after all. But when it came to men she didn’t know what to think let alone what to say. When Neji had first asked her for coffee, she’d agreed. She admired _him_ and she admired the nerve it took, and he’d been more than good to her the last few months—she _was_ happy with him.

So _why_ did her heart race every time she caught sight of Shikamaru?

She contemplated it for the thousandth time as he mindlessly bobbed his head to the beat, seemingly paying no attention to the intricate pattern he performed, and begged herself to arrive at the same conclusion as always. It had to just be curiosity. Wondering what might have happened that night if Kankuro hadn’t whisked her away from his arms was what tortured her; what placed these preposterous ideas in her head. He'd wanted her, and she'd wanted him more than she wanted to admit even now.

What if he still did…

But it wasn’t like he had picked up on her attempts at advances in the past, so was there even any point in contemplating? After all he showed no interest in her whatsoever; every word from those smug lips was nothing more than a sarky quip, and that was only if she was lucky enough to get more than a sigh in response. He never looked at her at all, let alone like she did him.

Or was that _why_ he never turned her way?

No, it was wrong—all of it was completely sour. With every word she sung along to _his_ song the guilt raged in her stomach. In any other circumstance Temari would abandon her current path to try her luck. But the current track was so smooth, too easy to walk to just turn away. If she switched she would have to run through the fog just to come into his view, only to then navigate her way such that she didn’t lose her footing and fall flat on her face. Usually embarrassment wouldn’t feature in any reasoning of hers, but she was inclined to believe he already thought little enough of her as things stood. Not to mention what Neji might think…

But as awful as it was, however deeply she hated herself for it, she knew she had to know for sure or this misery might never rest. What if she _had_ had a chance? What if she'd thrown it away without ever knowing? After all, he always looked so proud when he made her laugh—prouder than when women screamed his name from a crowd—and he threw her a cigarette whenever she asked. Weak as it was in reality, such things felt momentous.

She knew was clawing for a scrap of anything, failing miserably, but if this wasn’t one sided she had a _reason_ to think these terrible thoughts. If this wasn’t one sided, she was the slightest bit less hopeless in the ways she thought of him at night. If this wasn’t one sided, the path ahead might not be as rocky as she'd anticipated.

Her eyes shifted back to Neji who was lost in his own performance as he sang, and something stung inside her chest. The man was wonderful—he truly was, and he would forever be her close friend—but that bassist was something else.

Temari gulped when Neji looked her way and shot her eyes back to Shikamaru with paranoia. She could have sworn she'd seen his eyes flicker away as she turned…

No, she had to try, and she needed to be _subtle_ about it if such a thing was possible.

The ticket in the pocket of her shorts, twisted and torn, suddenly dug into her hipbone and a mischievous smile set across her lips as she sang along to ignore the trepidation growling from her stomach.

She could be subtle; all she needed was a pen.

* * *

Stood between his legs, towering over him, her heart was pounding out of her chest. The note had been placed. There was no turning back now, and adrenaline pumped through her at a terrifying rate. Yet, despite that overwhelming fear, Temari felt like she could conquer the world from where she stood right now: with him beneath her she could do _whatever_ she wanted. But what she wanted more than anything was to pin him down; to force those hands where they belonged on her hips, to kiss him as though she’d never kiss anyone after him. It had been unbearable nose to nose a moment prior, but with the power that came to her it was almost harder now not to let her instincts take over her.

Just about able to ignore the millions of urges that had lead her to this point, Temari simply smiled down at him and took a drag from his cigarette. She savoured the taste, envisioning herself kissing those parted lips—how she longed to colour them her signature shade of purple—and bit down on her own lip slightly. “Want it back?” she purred.

Shikamaru’s expression didn’t shift as she hoped it would at her cheeky tone. His narrow eyes just blinked slowly. “Wow, I _really_ hate you.”

It stung—not as much as the thought of Neji walking in right now and seeing her like this, but it was deadly all the same. Still, as confidently as she could she quipped back and set down his cigarette, hoping that the words he shot back were nothing more than the sarcasm she usually devoured. Thankfully when he spoke next—when he let the word ‘ _love_ ’ slip from his tongue—she saw the cheekiness in his eyes and the smile forcing its way onto his lips.

Temari fought desperately against the urge to straddle him and took a careful step back. “You love me really,” she stated calmly, both terrified and ecstatic at such a claim being true.

When he stayed silent her heart sank.

As she walked away she made a point of swaying a little more than usual, lingering in the doorway for a moment, then hiding just outside to let out a sigh of relief. All she could do now was wait and see if he pulled her to one side, took her in those strong arms—only then would she set in motion whatever miraculous plan she’d need to manufacture not to cause _anyone_ pain.

She should’ve been glad when he didn’t grab her that night, or when he didn't call her the next day. Maybe she _was_ glad somewhere in the crevasses of her mind. But nothing outweighed the looming cloud of disappointment, and nothing extinguished her burning worry that the cigarette they’d shared might be their last.

Everything would be different now; everything would be worse.

Maybe that was for the best.


	3. It Should Have Been Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: 'It Should Have Been Me' by Yvonne Fair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, you might've thought this was over. Think again
> 
> Thanks to hype-manager extraordinaire @loknnica for brainstorming, and all your wonderful support, 'Cloud Nine' has grown into an absolute passion project of a multi-chap. I'm so excited for you to read it, and I hope you enjoy! 
> 
> Also, please note the time jump from the previous chapter to this one!

“What?” asked Kiba, grinning ear to ear as he slapped Neji on the back, almost climbing onto the guitarist as he bounced on his toes. “ _When_?”

From his seat, Neji almost looked embarrassed as he turned his eyes to meet his friend’s excitable gaze. “Last night,” he said. A soft smile spread across his face. “It was a spur of the moment thing.”

“That’s unlike you.” Kankuro swirled around the remaining beer in his glass. “And even more unlike her.”

Neji didn’t seem to disagree and offered an apologetic smile as he adjusted himself in his chair, but it did nothing to shift the evident pride behind his eyes. He didn’t seem to flinch as Kiba drummed on his shoulders before turning to the bar and screaming for another round—every member of the band knew, by this point, it was better not to question his lavish behaviour. So, one by one, he went around the table, naming their orders brightly as though it was a party trick, but on the final man he paused.

“Shikamaru?”

Smoke filtered through the air, drifting across his blank expression. The ash on the end of the cigarette between his lips grew long, threatening to drop at any moment. Shikamaru’s eyes fixed on the bubbles at the bottom of his glass, watching each one burst in time with the explosive pangs surging through his chest. He could feel the buzz of the bass echoing through the speakers; one endless, deafening note working its way to his torso from his toes and settling as a painful swelling right between his ribs. There wasn’t a single word which could pierce the veil he’d shrouded himself in, and he didn’t notice the abundance of chuckles as Kiba threw his charisma around like confetti on his way over to the bar.

 _Married_ , he repeated over and over in his mind, until the word no longer sounded real. He wished that it wasn’t, prayed that this was a practical joke or a dream—a nightmare. His own personal hell was developing around him, an inescapable labyrinth of fake smiles and phrases he’d be forced to halfheartedly say. He’d be convincing—he _needed_ to be—but that didn’t lessen the pain. It didn’t lessen dull ache that was spreading through his body, or the sweat lacing his firmly knitted brow.

And then he heard it again from across the room: that word which drained every ounce of blood from his face. With immaculate timing he raised his head and caught sight of the kind, grey eyes he’d avoided for so long, and felt himself gutted when Neji flashed him the most oblivious smile.

A year down the line, Shikamaru still found it near-on impossible to look his friend in the eye without some negative feeling swarming him into a dark place, but in this moment it was impossible to take his eyes off of him. He felt frozen with fear, the usual guilt blazing through his veins, but upon feeling Kankuro’s elbow dig into his ribs, Shikamaru could suddenly hear every spritely voice which ignited the room once more.

The droning bass of the music still battered him from the inside out as he forced a smile and scratched nervously at his goatee. “Married, huh?” he gulped, fidgeting.

Neji nodded slowly as his smile started to fade, and Shikamaru felt himself shudder. He hoped that nobody had seen the nervous twitch or the way his shoulders had dropped the moment Neji had given his announcement, but in reality, only one set of eyes mattered. If Neji had seen, he wasn’t sure he could forgive himself. As much as it twisted his insides, he knew he had to hold his smile taught and pretend; pretend he was happy for him, pretend seeing light reflect off the band of metal on Neji’s finger didn’t _kill_ him.

The corners of his mouth quivered as he choked out a weak chuckle. “Congratulations,” he whispered. It was a miracle his voice didn’t crack. He cleared his throat as though it might hide the way each syllable had strained him, and burning eyes fell fast to stare at the bubbles once more. Shikamaru focused on one, the biggest one, and what it might feel like to live the rest of his miserable life inside it—protected and muffled once more. _Beautiful_ , he decided. It would be truly perfect, and he could slowly feel himself floating back into the silence he so desperately longed for, each passing second lasting a lifetime to the horrific soundtrack of Kiba’s singing.

“Thank you,” he heard his friend say.

The bubble burst.

His eyes squeezed shut, itching to block it all out, but all it did was force unwanted tears to seep from the corner of his eye. Terrified, he quickly forced a yawn and rubbed his eyes, which prompted way more attention than he had been hoping for. Kiba slammed a rum and coke in under his nose with a glistening smile. “Last night on tour and our man got himself hitched,” he began, smirking down at the bassist. “Drink up, you lazy bastard—we’re celebrating.”

“Not without me, you aren’t.”

_Please no._

Shikamaru’s bloodshot eyes rose to meet the owner of the voice. All night he’d managed to avoid being knocked senseless by her gaze in the way he always was; from backstage, and from the place she took up in the crowd. Even though the venues had grown bigger, the lights brighter, and the screaming louder, it still took him a cruelly short amount of time to locate hers amongst the many sweaty bodies. But tonight, somehow, he’d managed it—avoided her in every sense of the word, just as he’d tried for so long.

Though it had been a year since he and Temari had last been alone together, Shikamaru knew how one glance from her would knock him senseless for the rest of the night, reversing all the lacklustre work he’d put into shifting his mindset. Yet here he was, eyes locked with hers in the most terrible moment—the most unbearable situation he could possibly imagine. She was, without a doubt, the last person he wanted to see right now. But, in yet another ghastly twist of fate, he found himself stuck as stone under her gaze. Those ponytails may as well have been snakes for all he knew.

What made it worse was how she looked at him first, as if she knew. It didn’t cross Shikamaru’s brilliant mind that she might’ve looked at him because of Kiba’s address, all he could bring himself to note was the way her eyes didn’t pass from him to the next man nearly as swiftly as he expected; not nearly as fast as they should. Such fanciful nonsense did nothing but twist his gut by the time she’d turned her head. He didn’t care to notice the way her face faltered as he sniffed.

The group welcomed her to sit down, but Shikamaru merely gritted his teeth. Temari gave him a feeble smile, as warm as he remembered her touch to be, and the ache across every inch of him evolved into persistent stabs. He felt needles dash across his scalp as she sat down, his stomach convulsing with every syllable he heard her say.

Escape was his only option. Living like this wasn’t a possibility.

He took the new glass in his palm and threw it back, violently blinking when the bottom smashed against the table. “Nah, I’m knackered,” he lied, scraping his chair back with a terrible creak. He hoped it might mask his snivelling as he ducked his head and threw his jacket over his shoulder. “I’m going back to the hotel. Congratulations again, Neji,” he murmured through gritted teeth, forcing yet another pathetic smile as his eyes flew between the two of them.

For a moment, like the idiot he was, he let himself linger on Temari. The look in her eyes drew him into a sense of calm, and all of a sudden it didn’t matter to him that that feeling was false, or that his breaths were actually growing shallower by the minute. He wasn’t sure what such a look meant, but Shikamaru tried to focus only on the smile across her lips. Whether or not he was miserable was irrelevant to the rest of the world; Temari was happy.

He opened his mouth, very nearly even held out his hand, in an attempt to wish her well. In truth, he wanted to congratulate her—he _wanted_ to give her his best, even after everything—but, as he tried, not a single word would fall from his lips. The longer he stared during this awkward silence, the more anxious he grew, and he swore that a sudden panic swept across _her_ expression, thwarted by her husband’s hand grabbing her own.

_Husband._

The title couldn’t have stung more bitterly.

An unexpectedly unpleasant chuckle whistled through Shikamaru’s teeth as he backed away, a last-ditch to keep the tears at bay before swiftly turning and grabbing his guitar case from beside the door. He could feel eyes on his back as he swung it open and raised a shaking hand goodbye. A mumble of goodbyes and friendly chuckles told him he’d done a good enough job to fool them, but he knew there was no fooling himself.

Once he’d passed through the threshold and turned the corner, away from the windows and the hustle and bustle, Shikamaru’s shoulders began to shake violently. A crippling and desperate hitch in his breath stopped him in his tracks, persistent sobs lurching his body forward. He pressed a clawing hand against the brick wall ahead and felt himself droop down to nothing as his fingertips noticed the cold rush up his arm.

He didn’t understand. For so long he had been content with his life, with being alone and without just about anything, but in just a year his whole life had shifted. And it was all thanks to this stupid band, and that troublesome woman. Whether he wanted to accept it or not, give in to the dim light it painted him in, she’d held him in the palm of her hand since the moment they’d first met. He should’ve known it was only a matter of time until that open palm closed; squeezed tight and crushed him within an inch of his life. He _must’ve_ known.

Now here he was, crying on the corner of a street, uncaring of whatever stranger might see. Crushed, truly, with no right to be.

In his mind, it was never supposed to feel like this. He was _supposed_ to change; to walk away and forget the glint in those eyes, ignore the quips and smirks he loved so aggressively. Or if such a remarkable feat couldn’t be met—which he knew it couldn’t—she was supposed to change _her_ mind. She was meant to wake up one morning and come running to him, and he would welcome her in his arms as though there had been nothing in their way from the start.

But miracles, Shikamaru had to remember, didn’t happen often, and they _certainly_ didn’t happen to him. In a way he was sure he’d got what he’d deserved, but that didn’t stop the anger boiling alongside the hurt inside him with every breath he took, with each inch his aching body stood taller.

“Shikamaru!”

The way Kankuro shouted his name, brutal and terrified, sent an obnoxious shiver down Shikamaru’s spine. As he turned he clawed calloused fingertips down the bricks to let his arm fall limp at his side, as heavy and lifeless as the rest of him felt.

“Kankuro?” Shikamaru prayed that his friend was a great enough distance away not to see his tear-stained cheeks, but with every step closer the brunette took he grew more and more aware how few favours the bright streetlights were doing for him. He quickly tied his jacket around his waist, and wiped his cheeks with the back of his hand, desperately clearing his hoarse throat. “Is something wrong?”

The keyboardist crossed his arms firmly across his chest as he grew closer. “You don’t have to pretend, Shikamaru,” he sighed. “I know.”

Nervously, Shikamaru shifted, a breeze running cold against the sudden sheen of sweat across his neck. Kankuro’s dark eyes softened as his eyebrows raised, and the younger man felt a devastating breath force itself out. He made almost no sound, his voice that of a lost little boy as he mumbled: “You know?”

“I know.”

He fell against the wall, his bass squished between his back and the bricks and felt his knees begin to give way. Making no attempt to hide his tears as he looked his friend in the eye, Shikamaru’s breath hitched. This past year the two of them had grown much closer—shared ride upon ride, and smoke upon smoke—and Shikamaru was almost comforted at the idea that his friend knew of his blight, even if he didn’t understand. But, while he wanted to just accept the awkward hug his friend was clearly about to offer and live with the knowledge someone knew, one question stood at the forefront of his mind, impossible to ignore.

“Kankuro?” he tried meekly.

“Yeah?”

“Did you know already?”

Instantly he could see Kankuro’s shoulder stiffen and his eyes jumped to the floor. When they lifted again, his brow furrowed deeply as he let loose his arms, emphatically gesturing as though he thought that would make the obvious any less painful. The jumble of words falling from his mouth skirted around every possible answer as though it wasn’t easy to answer, and amongst the bundle of emotions swarming Shikamaru, he was fast beginning to add impatience to the mix.

“Just answer the question,” hissed Shikamaru, exasperated. “Before Neji told us in there, did you know?”

There was a pregnant pause before the keyboardist nodded, and a whole new feeling overwhelmed him. All of a sudden, it all amalgamated into a most terrible feeling. The hurt and the desperation, the anger and the jealousy, all came together in a perfect storm. Something snapped, a twinge of frustrated nerves amongst the heat of his stomach.

Exhaustion. 

Over a year’s worth of suffering—doting and pining—washed over him in one foul swoop, and Shikamaru felt himself rise up from against the wall. Sluggishly, he staggered towards Kankuro, uncaring for the tears streaming down his cheeks as he clasped his shoulder in a tight grip. He could tell from the way his friend flinched that he was expecting anger, but all Shikamaru could do was lean and shake his head passively.

“I just can’t do it anymore,” he whispered through a despairingly false laugh. “I’m so _tired_ of it all, Kankuro.”

His friend pursed his lips as he frowned, clearly saddened by the sorry mess of a man before him. “I know, man,” he sighed. “But it’ll be okay once you move on, I swear.”

Shikamaru scoffed. “I don’t know how to do that.”

Kankuro nudged him to raise his eyes and pointed across to the other side of the street where a pair of young women stood, their arms outstretched to hail a cab, and instantly Shikamaru knew what he was implying.

He sighed as he caught the eye of one of them. She was a brunette—not his type, but who was he kidding? Until this moment his type had been _her_ and her alone. But Temari had made her choice and it hadn’t been him—it wasn’t _ever_ going to be him. He had to come to terms with that.

In the meantime, however, whilst he fought battles behind his eyes he couldn’t imagine overcoming, Shikamaru knew he had to take any chance he could get to feel _anything_ good, to feel anything other than _this_ ; the pain he felt in that very moment.

He was a rockstar, and it was time for him to act like one.


	4. Hole In My Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: 'Hole In My Soul' by Aerosmith

All it took was a sentence; a sentence delivered with a smirk or wink. It got easier every time, too easy, in fact, for it to mean anything at all. What had started as a girl across the street, giving him enough of a smile to con him into believing it might solve his every problem, stitch up every cut that she left behind, had evolved over just two weeks into something absurd.

Shikamaru knew, deep down, that this was not a long term solution. He knew how it painted him in the ever-present eyes of the media, and what it looked like to any of his friends besides Kankuro, but that didn’t make him stop. With each new woman he took home, or went home with, he couldn’t feel himself moving any further away from the pain he’d felt before. Instead, he found all he was doing was digging a hole for himself and falling down it. No, not a hole—a bottomless pit.

The problem was he’d convinced himself not to care. It was all-consuming, degrading and more tiring than loving her had ever been, but somehow it still seemed better than having to look her in the eye and go to bed alone while someone else got to hold her.

It grew too troublesome at far too fast a rate for Shikamaru to keep it up, so he chose to numb himself the only way he knew how. He must’ve bought twice as many cigarettes as usual over those two weeks—he could hear his mother nagging in his ear about killing himself every time he placed one at his lips, but that didn’t stop him. When people knew you by humming along to your bassline on the radio, or by seeing your face in the magazine they read behind the counter, it wasn’t uncommon to receive a pack or two for free. As he had learned this last fortnight, most corner shops in his hometown had far too many kind employees. Even if they didn’t, he had enough money now that it didn’t matter— _that’s_ where the danger lay.

But the smoking wasn’t dangerous short-term; not as dangerous as the rum had been last night. His hands had slipped their way around far too many glasses to stop him positioning himself beside the nearest blonde at the bar. He’d been seconds away from whispering in her ear, begging her to let him call her by the only name he could wrap his tongue around, when a fist collided with his jaw.

Shikamaru didn’t know who the man was—a boyfriend, or a brother perhaps. He barely even remembered the pain. All he knew was that he deserved it. He was even somehow grateful.

Somehow it had hurt less than the pitiful look that she gave him when she saw his face littered with bruises. The sympathy in those eyes burned through his already weak defences, a threadbare veil sewn by his growing body count, before she’d even blinked.

He was ensnared at the bottom of a trap he’d built himself, but it was _her_ palm that tugged at his ankle every time he tried to move; the memory of her fingertips against his skin a deadly curse in itself. Clawing his way to the top wasn’t as easy as piling in bodies until he could climb out. He needed someone to reach down, to help, and that person wasn’t coming quick enough.

 _They might never come_ , he thought as he watched Temari haul Neji’s gear from the boot of her car. How could anyone help him when he was so blind to any hand, but hers?

As she advanced, Shikamaru used every ounce of his will to avert his eyes. He focused on the ground, on the ash he’d coated it with like paper snowflakes, but the sound of her footsteps against the concrete rattled through his head like an alarm bell. They grew louder, closer—with each second, a new tap. His grip on the cigarette between his lips loosened as he felt her come up alongside him, her slender hand resting on the door to the rehearsal studio as though ready to knock. Shikamaru waited for the hollow sound and ducked his head, turning up the collar of his jacket as though it might hide him.

Instead there was a thud as Temari dropped the amplifier from her clutches, raising her hand and grasping his chin. She twisted his face sharply, and he winced as her thumb pressed against the swelling along his jawline. As the sound split through the silence he felt her grip loosen momentarily, but by the time his eyes shot up to meet hers, he could feel the pressure building again.

Temari’s gaze, though still pitiful, narrowed into a frown. “How the fuck did _this_ happen?”

They were her first words to him since the announcement, and he couldn’t help wanting to ask her the same question. How could it be acceptable to be silent to one another for weeks, ignore each other as best they could for a year, then suddenly grab at his face? Her lack of understanding left him frozen for a moment—speechless as he tried to wrap his head around whatever crossed wires were hidden behind her eyes. It angered him beyond belief that she could be so careless.

Careless for his feelings; careless for her husband’s nerves.

Grabbing her forearm and batting it away, Shikamaru took a sharp breath at the thought of him. He took a step back, and peered behind her at the car—the boot wasn’t closed, and the lights were still on. As he chewed on the inside of his cheeks he focused on the tenderness of his skin, hoping it might take away the sting inside his chest. “Where’s Neji?”

“Running late,” she said, a little too quickly for Shikamaru to feel safe. “Forget him—”

_I wish._

“—why does your face look like _that_?”

“Why do you care?”

She scoffed as she tore her arm from his grip. “If someone sees you like that and tells the press, you’re gonna have a million questions coming your way.”

“That sounds to me like _my_ problem,” he sighed as his eyes drifted to the dying cigarette at his feet, lost amongst the commotion. His hands, just like the rest of him, were now decidedly empty. “You owe me another cigarette.”

“As if you haven’t had enough.”

“Again, can’t say that sounds like your problem.”

Temari paused and lowered her hands to her sides. “Weren’t you out with Kankuro last night?”

He stared at her blankly. What was he supposed to tell her? The answer was simple—yes, he had—but her intentions were so unclear, and her expression morphing into something far too comforting for Shikamaru to safely keep up the conversation. His eyes drifted to the amplifier and he gave a pathetic nod toward it. “I’ll take that,” he told her, his voice quivering slightly in his throat. “That way you can get going.”

It wasn’t an offer, it was a command. He was ready to crumble, ready to beg her to turn and walk away if she didn’t tear her eyes from him. It took everything in him not to crack under her gaze; not to cry and yell like a maniac until she never wanted to look his way again. He didn’t know how he’d cope never looking into those eyes again, but when she grabbed his chin once more as he reached down for the amp, such a condemning thought felt like heaven.

“Shikamaru, answer me.”

Bitter chuckles slipped through his gritted teeth. “You’re a sadist.”

A meek smile spread across her face as she let him go, clearly assuming this was him reverting back to how their friendship had once been, but Shikamaru couldn’t bring himself to smile back.

He envied her naivety almost as much as he loathed it. Why could she not see how false his smiles were? As hard as he tried, he never _felt_ like he was hiding the truth as well as he should, and he certainly didn’t believe she’d never picked up on his feelings for her.

“Shikamaru,” she repeated, less patient than she had been the first time, “just answer—”

There was a violent click as the boot of her car slammed shut, and Shikamaru felt his heart in his mouth as his eyes flew over her shoulder. The pit of his stomach swelled as it bubbled with anxiety, brewing in anticipation for the moment the hidden figure came into view. He could see Temari freeze and her lips purse as her eyes fluttered shut. Such a sight hardly filled him with hope, and he gulped as not one but two figures came into view; one male, one female.

An unmistakable laugh echoed down the pathway, and Shikamaru felt relief wash across his body like ice. 

He brought his hands to his face and rubbed desperately. “Kankuro,” he cursed at a whisper.

With a cheerful wave, Kankuro slung his backpack over his shoulder and started towards the pair of them. He gestured to the woman beside him to follow and Shikamaru watched as she flopped her head forward in exasperation, feeling a small smile spread across his lips. She crossed her arms and continued on towards them, her long black hair swinging behind her in it’s ponytail, pursed lips forming an awkward smile as she locked eyes with the bassist.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he recognised her—that their upcoming introduction would not be their first meeting—but he could not for the life of him pin how. He prayed that she wasn’t one of his escapades of the last fortnight, even if only so that she could become tonight’s escape from reality.

“Took your time, didn’t you?” The blonde’s voice was tired and shaky as she turned to look at her brother, reaching out for him to drop the car keys into her palm.

“It’s not _my_ fault,” chuckled Kankuro as he drew up alongside his sister. “Look who I bumped into, Shikamaru!”

Shikamaru stared blankly and darted his eyes between his friend and the woman.

“She wanted to see what rehearsal was like,” he added, “so here she is.”

Still, the bassist’s brain clocked nothing, but thankfully the stranger just gave him that same soft smile. “It’s alright,” she said awkwardly, her voice deep and calm. “I’d forget me, too.”

“Oh, no—um,” he stammered, rubbing his neck awkwardly. “I don't remember—”

“Azumi. I work at The Flame—Flame Arena, that is.” She flicked her hair over her shoulder and blinked at him with tired, blue eyes. “I have to say, I expected a better memory from the smart one.”

He shrugged as he nodded in agreement, painfully aware of the discontented look in Temari’s eyes as this other girl laughed at his somewhat gormless expression. Maybe there was a chance she remembered, deep in her memory, calling him the same thing as this woman had done, but if she did she wasn’t giving anything away. All she did was stand with her knuckles poised against the door and quietly cleared her throat.

As he stepped to the side and outstretched his hand, he felt her gaze burrowing into him as though he was betraying her. In a way, he supposed he was. Never had he expected to be the man he’d become, nonetheless to behave this way in front of her, of all people. But something here was different; calming and sensible. There was no caveat to the meeting, no expectancy of anything to follow. Azumi’s laugh was just so genuine, and so friendly, that he felt almost numb to the anxieties that always swarmed him in Temari’s presence. _This_ voice, _these_ giggles, didn’t lace bittersweet memories into his every thought, or form lumps in his throat with every word.

It was refreshing—soothing, even. He could get used to that sound, he decided, and, as her hand clasped around his to shake, Kankuro shot a knowing wink over her shoulder. Shikamaru held back a chuckle and widened his smile momentarily; a silent thank you for his friend’s efforts.

He rapped his knuckles on the door as though Temari’s weren’t already there waiting, and shot her an almost grateful look as she stepped out of his way when the door buzzed open.

 _Something to fill the hole,_ he thought to himself. And, for the first time, he almost believed it.

Temari’s eyes rolled as he watched him step inside, beckoning the woman to follow behind, and her arm stretch out to block her brother's path inside. She waited until she heard the welcoming cheers from within and listened for the inner door to snap shut before looking up at him, a sad disbelief evident in her eyes. Immediately Kankuro stepped back, sighing as the door swung closed once more.

His face contorted into a worried frown when her expression didn’t change after a moment, and she saw his shoulders shudder in anticipation. “What’s wrong?”

“You _know_ what,” she hissed. “Did you not see his face?”

Kankuro bit down on his lip, holding back a nervous laugh. “Yeah, he didn’t exactly have a good night…”

“Did he get into a fight?”

She didn’t like the way her brother kicked at the concrete silently.

“ _You_ were supposed to look after him!”

“Temari,” he sighed, “he’s fine.”

“Haven’t you seen him? More booze, more cigarettes, more...” Temari paused as her eyes drifted to the floor. “More women,” she added with a gulp. “He needs you to watch him so he doesn’t do stupid shit like that, Kankuro.”

Her brother shook his head. “No, _you_ need me to watch him.”

She shifted awkwardly as she shrugged Neji’s guitar from her back. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed.

“Then why do you care what he’s doing?”

All manner of reasons; that’s what she wanted to tell him. She wanted to tell him how much she’d loathed the first two weeks of her marriage all thanks to Shikamaru, and seeing a new irritatingly perfect face pressed up against his every time she turned around. Every extra cigarette she saw him light send her back in time to that day in the dressing room, reminding her of all she could’ve done amongst the blurry haze of smoke that had filled it. Then she’d remember the emptiness that followed, the loneliness of his silence and how hard it had been for her not to scream every time she caught his eye.

She cared what he was doing, longed for the ins and outs of his whole life, for the exact reason that it _wasn’t_ _her_ business. Only being able to guess where he was, who he was with, or what excess shit he’d been putting into his body, left her head spinning constantly. It didn’t seem like too much to ask, but she knew to say it out loud was wrong. Saying something so damning brought it all the more to life, and spun endless webs that would entrap whichever poor soul was unlucky enough to merely touch it.

Her little brother didn’t deserve to get caught up in the mess inside her head.

“Listen, you’ve got an image to protect,” she lied. “ _All_ of you do. You let that slip and people won’t think any better of Cloud Nine than they do The Akatsuki.”

Kankuro grumbled as he adjusted his backpack. “Jump up little pricks…”

“Exactly. And you’re not just a better band than them, you’re better _people_.” She gave him a feeble smile. “Keep it that way, okay?”

“But one fight and a short stint of fuck-up’s from _him_ won’t ruin the band,” he insisted. “You saw what happened with Kiba and that rich chick; not a peep from anyone. And when Karui left, and Tenten came in to replace her, nobody even batted an eyelid.” He moved closer and rested his hands gently against her shoulders. “He’s not your problem, Temari.”

He said it like he meant it, with gentle volition, but Temari couldn’t help feeling it wasn’t true. To her, ever since she’d first met him, and in spite of whatever choice words they’d exchanged throughout their time, it had always felt like he _was_ her problem. She _knew_ she had forced it all upon herself—the stress, the guilt, and even the heartbreak of a year’s silence. She’d known all along, but there was something about the look in his eyes the night he’d learned of her elopement, and the way it reignited every emotion that she thought she’d washed away, that clawed desperately at her insides.

Temari knew that it was her fault for going up to him in the first place, and after that it was _her_ fault for dating his friend—his bandmate—and becoming their manager, forcing herself to be around him almost every day. There wasn’t an element of this cruel joke that she hadn’t brought upon herself, and yet the anger still bubbled away when she saw the smile he’d given that girl.

When Kankuro’s eyebrows raised as if to ask her if she’d listened, it took everything in her power not to cry into his shoulder. He didn’t realise what he’d done to her by bumping into this girl, or how he’d torn her up inside as she jumped endlessly back and forth between right and wrong. The worst part of it was that she couldn’t say a word, only stare silently as she nodded, holding back the tears that burned dangerously in her eyes.

But then his arms slid around her shoulders, enveloping her in a hug she didn’t realise she needed. She buried her face in his neck and squeezed him tightly as her cheeks grew wet with tears.

Temari knew that if he knew the truth it would only be a matter of time before he confronted her and asked her why she’d cornered herself into this mess. After all, Kankuro knew better than anyone that _this_ was not her—she wasn’t submissive or swayed by the opinions of others, nor did she give up her desires if it was in her power to achieve them. However, he also knew that she didn’t have it in her to get what she wanted at another’s expense, and the ring on her finger brought that to an extreme.

A quivering hitch in breath shook through her body as she squeezed her eyes shut tighter.

“I know it doesn’t help you,” he muttered, rubbing her back, “but he has to do this sometime.” He paused, placing a kiss on her forehead. “It will get easier. I promise it will.”

She pulled away and looked up into her brother's soft eyes. “It better.”


	5. The Less I Know The Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: 'The Less I Know The Better' by Tame Impala

The Flame wasn’t unfamiliar to any of them nowadays. Whether it was to watch or play, this once revered venue of their hometown, a place they assumed they’d never walk the stage, had become where they spent a large amount of their time. Shikamaru was used to haunting the halls backstage and crowding the alley behind it with smoke. He’d grown accustomed to abandoning the van belonging to their drummer, Tenten, and just letting the sound engineers grab their stuff to bring inside at the insistence of the venue.

However, aside from the first time they’d played here, he’d never been so happy to be back. It had only been a week since he’d met her—two days since he’d last bumped into her in the street—but Shikamaru couldn’t help smiling when he remembered Azumi worked here. Maybe it was his desperation for something— _anything—_ to stick, but something about these run-ins felt disastrously like fate.

That was the reason he’d made a point to ignore the strange herbal smell of her shirt when he’d hugged her last, and forgotten to question how a stage-hand had as much money in her purse as she did when she bought him that coffee. None of it was important to him as it should’ve been; the snags of doubt were incomparable to the way he felt a little less suffocated when she laughed. Any sense, and his usual sharp-witted nature, was washed away by the despair he was itching to dispose of, and Shikamaru found himself unable to care.

As strode through the corridors toward the stage the walls were lined with posters. He saw his face printed one or twice—Kiba’s more than anybody else’s, but that was no surprise—and a line of smug expressions that made his skin crawl.

There was only one other band who came from the same city, frequented the same bars and venues as they did, and it wasn’t a secret to anyone that the two groups were not friends. After Kiba had initially had it out with the front man of The Akatsuki, Hidan, a series of traps and tricks from him had ensued which left blood boiling.

It was a storm that the media loved to pray on, portraying—quite rightly—a childish feud. This feud, the arguments and the lies, had already cost them two drummers, and yet somehow they’d been left standing above The Akatsuki with little to complain about. They’d been quiet for a while, or at least their dirty work had been.

Shikamaru paused as his eyes lingered on their frontman, his slicked back silver hair as oily as the man himself. _Too quiet,_ he thought to himself before he continued on. _Far too quiet._

By the time the bassist had arrived at the stage, Kiba was already prancing about repeating the same phrases into his microphone. He gave Shikamaru a tired wave to which the bassist nodded, smiling softly. “Where’s Kankuro?” he called out.

Kiba jabbed his thumb to his left repeatedly and Shikamaru followed his pointer backstage hurriedly to their dressing room, finding the keyboardist smearing purple war paint across his cheeks in front of his reflection, as he so often did. Rolling his eyes, Shikamaru edged up behind him and raised his eyebrows. “New pattern?”

Clearly shaken by his sudden, and almost silent arrival, Kankuro’s brush darted up across his cheekbone. Angry eyes flickered up to meet his friend’s in the mirror, his lips pursed together. “And after all I do for you, Nara,” he grumbled, huffing as he leaned back and grabbed his backpack. “You’ve made it look shit.”

“You mean, it wasn’t before?”

Kankuro threw his arm out and jabbed Shikamaru’s gut with his elbow, smirking. “You’re far too happy.”

“I am?” he asked through wincing chuckles.

“You are. Where did the misery guts who cries on street corners go?”

Nervously, Shikamaru brought his hand to his neck. He wanted to tell his friend that, thanks to him, that guy was gone for good, but it would be a lie to say he’d never do that again for sure. For all he knew, he’d walk out the dressing room, see Temari with Neji’s hands placed tenderly on the small over her back, and have to dart outside until the coast was clear so the couple wouldn’t spot his bloodshot eyes.

Instead he shot Kankuro a grateful smile and brought his hand firmly down onto his shoulder. Thankfully, from the nod his friend gave and the way his nose crinkled as he rooted blindly around his bag, Shikamaru felt as though he’d read his mind.

“My wipes aren’t here.” He gritted his teeth and threw his head back despairingly. “Of course they’re not.”

Shikamaru frowned. “Your _what_?”

“The shit I need to remove this!” he said, gesturing towards the mess on his cheeks. “They must be in my gig bag.”

“ _That_ isn’t your gig bag?”

“Does it look like I can fit a fucking piano in here, Shikamaru?”

He couldn’t help but laugh at his friend’s impatience. “Where’s the bag?”

Kankuro shrugged. “With yours and all the others, probably—behind the stage?”

Giving his shoulder an unnecessarily firm squeeze, Shikamaru stepped back. “I’ll go get them for you,” he smiled. “Only fair.”

“They’re in a pink packet. Floral smell.”

“Oh, how manly.”

“Shut your mouth.”

* * *

Behind the stage the bags were piled high. Through his lingering chuckles, Shikamaru greeted the many stage-hands and helpful people who sent smiles his way as he drew closer to that tower of black. He spotted the case for his bass propped up against the wall, the garish khaki embroidery of antlers he’d done to match his tattoos impossible to miss against the black, and reminded himself for the thousandth time to unpick that mess when he got home.

He wouldn’t of course—too much trouble. Not to mention Temari had complimented it once before. Although that was probably all the more reason to remove it, the idea of doing so felt like he was tearing himself from her in a not so comfortable way. Even if he did move on, he could keep something, couldn’t he? Some things were so tiny, so deep-rooted and silly, it couldn’t hurt to keep them. Could it?

Before he could drown himself in the usual gushing of thoughts, of dangerous wondering and dreams, his eyes were drawn to a figure crouching amongst the bags. Her ponytail swished as she rooted around, her hand deep into a bag so obnoxiously big it had to be Kankuro’s.

“Azumi?” he asked, a brightness in his voice he barely recognised.

Her head shot round sharply and a violent blush invaded her cheeks. “S-Shikamaru!” she stammered, her lip between her teeth as she slowly withdrew her hands. “What’re you doing here?”

Shikamaru’s eyebrows raised. “The same thing as you are, apparently.”

“I swear it isn’t what it looks like,” she chuckled, stealing a quick look back into the bag and reaching back in. Her hand emerged and she gripped tightly to a lead. “One of the sound guys wanted another kettle lead, and I just thought—”

“I could’ve found you one, if you’d _asked_ ,” he said. With the way her expression darkened at his firm tone, Shikamaru couldn’t help forcing a smile as she stood up and moved closer. “It’s good to see you though.”

“You, too.” Azumi smiled and gave his shoulder a gentle knock with her own as she walked past. “I’ll bear that in mind, by the way.”

“What?”

“ _Asking_ _you_.”

The smirk on her lips as she turned to say it reminded him a little too much of another beautiful woman, and he found himself looking to his feet to avoid the flush of red painting his cheeks. By the time he’d raised his eyes, she was already striding away, her hips swaying with every step. When she stopped a few metres away he made no effort to look away, even if he did feel a little like an animal.

 _Not yet_ , he’d said on both occasions he’d seen her, but his patience was wearing thin, and the hole deeping with every ring of Temari’s voice in his ears. This time, however, as he crouched down in search of what he’d promised his friend, he mumbled to himself, “Soon.”

It wasn’t hard to locate the obnoxious pink packet amongst the black, but as he fished it out and tossed it in his palm, something else came into view; a small bag, half-filled with what Shikamaru knew instantly wasn’t sugar.

A growl escaped his throat as he muttered, “Kankuro…”

He quickly grabbed it and shoved it deep into his jacket pocket, looking around as a shudder flew across his shoulders. The moment he’d zipped shut Kankuro’s bag he hopped to his feet to hurry back to the dressing room, unable to shake the feeling of eyes burning into his back.

* * *

The door slammed behind him as he pelted the wipes at the back of his friend's head. “What the fuck is this?”

When Kankuro turned, his hand already rubbing the back of his head, his brows furrowed instantly. “What’s what?”

“What’s _this_?” he hissed, his voice a harsh whisper. Shikamaru stormed closer and shoved the small bag in his face. “Azumi was rooting around your bag for a lead, you _idiot_! Do you know what would’ve happened if she, or anyone else, found out you had _drugs_ in your bag? We’d all be thrown out of here—banned, probably!”

Kankuro’s eyes crossed as he tried to focus on what sat before them, and plucked the bag from Shikamaru’s fingertips. After only a moment of examination, his head began to shake nervously. “Shikamaru, mate, that’s not mine.”

“What do you mean it isn’t yours, Kankuro? It was in your bag!”

“I _mean_ ,” he said firmly, a terrible quiver in his voice, “it’s not fucking mine.”

Shikamaru pursed his lips and rubbed at his chin as he eyed up the bag, wincing at the twinge of a lingering bruise on his jaw. His stare narrowed and he began to slowly shake his head.

The nerves he knew he was exuding prompted Kankuro to cock his head to one side. The brunette dropped the packet on the table in front of him as his lips began to part. “What?”

He bit down on his lip.

“Shikamaru, you don’t think it’s _them_ , do you?” he asked, his usually strong voice meek with fear. “Surely they’re not planting shit on us now.”

“Well,” he began calmly, “short of Kiba progressing on from weed—which he’d hardly keep quiet about—and the other two _suddenly_ being into hard drugs, I can’t exactly think of another explanation.”

Without hesitation, Shikamaru reached down and ripped a wipe from the packet, passing the rest to his bandmate. Using the wet material as a barrier he grasped the bag and rubbed it profusely.

“What’re you doing?”

“Fingerprints,” he gulped, and looked at his friend. “Don’t say a word about this, alright?” It wasn’t a question, and the look in Kankuro’s eyes told him he knew that. The man had done too much for him, given him so much hope and covered for him in too many drunken escapades, for Shikamaru not to shoulder responsibility for this mess now that he could. “I’m gonna go into the alley out back and I’m gonna get rid of it.”

“But they’re—”

“We don’t need anymore trouble, Kankuro,” he insisted. He tried to force a smile as he backed towards the door. “If we say nothing and just get rid of it, it’ll be over in two minutes and we never have to deal with it again, okay? Leave it to me for once.”

Kankuro’s expression, even with the ridiculous paint, was difficult to look at; terrified and overwhelmed by it all as he stumbled for words. But Shikamaru cracked open the door, peacefully forcing him into silence, and nodded encouragingly.

“Just finish your face and forget about it—we have a show to play.”

* * *

When the final song had rung out it’s last note, when the band had left the stage and the crowd had filtered out, Temari stood standing in the centre of the floor amongst the confetti, deafened by the silence. Even when Neji hurried down the stairs and gave her a quick peck on the cheek she barely heard what he told her before he disappeared again. She was too preoccupied with the scene playing out before her.

It was as though _he_ wanted to antagonise her as much as possible. In fact, Temari was almost sure that was the only purpose of this endeavour. Shikamaru had wasted no time in hopping down from the stage into the arms of that girl from last week—the one with the beautiful black hair, and the waist that clinched in just that bit more than her own—and he caught her eye more than once as their sickly sweet exchange continued.

Terrible as she knew it was, she couldn’t help her fingers tightening into a fist at the sight of it, praying that he didn’t notice. She tried to be sensible and avert her eyes from him, but only opened up another envious wound in her chest.

Kiba perched on the edge of the stage, a questionably rolled cigarette between his lips. Never in her time knowing him had Temari been jealous of that man, nor Ino who cuddled snugly into his side, but for some reason seeing the two of them smiling at one another was almost impossible to look at. She watched as he took a drag and his girlfriend smiled at him expectantly, the two of them drawing closer together until their lips were almost touching. Only a moment after he’d blown the smoke into her mouth, their lips had locked together in a kiss so passionate that Temari was enraged that she wasn’t a part of it.

It wasn’t that she wanted _Kiba_ , and she didn’t want Ino, either. She just wanted to experience the energy she saw sparking between them, and feel so tied up in a moment with someone that it was impossible not to wrap her legs around their waist, even in a room full of people. All she wanted, watching the two of them, was to want someone—love someone—so intensely that it didn’t matter where they were, they’d always felt like the only people in the room.

Though she’s felt it creeping in her stomach many times, only once in her life had that feeling been allowed to surface. It was a memory that haunted her at night and preyed on her in the day, so painfully brilliant that her eyes would often deceive her when the man from those dreams came into view.

She loved Neji. She did—she _had_ to—but when her eyes flicked away from the couple who knotted themselves together as though they didn’t care, she didn’t search for him around the room. Instead her gaze shot straight back to her nightmare, terrorising herself as she so often would.

“It gets better,” Kankuro had said but, as she looked on, Temari could swear it was only getting worse. As she saw that woman tug at his sleeve, and the smile he gave in response, she could feel her fingernails breaking the skin of her palm. She didn’t wince, barely noticing the pain at all. His lips were _too close_ to this stranger’s, too far away from her own.

So, when she grabbed him by the wrists and he made no effort to refrain, the overwhelming wave of emotion that flew over Temari didn’t come as a surprise. She let it sink in, watching the two of them disappear through a side door to the dressing rooms, not by choice but rather in sheer horror.

“It gets better,” her brother had said.

He had to have lied.

Temari didn’t need to give it any more thought or time at all to realise that nothing was going to get better unless _she_ did something—said something—and to him rather than anyone else. This needed to be ended once and for all while she was still strong enough to decide she wasn’t going to sit back and take it anymore. She couldn’t wait for another moment where he might be alone, in fear that she’d play the cowardly card as she always did. Too little too late wasn’t an option right now.

It was her anger that powered her forward, kicking aside the confetti and storming toward the double doors, but it was her jealousy that sparked it all. She was angry at Shikamaru almost every day—at least it _felt_ like that with the amount of shit she put herself through—but it wasn’t every day she was _jealous_. More than once in a month was too much. He wasn’t _allowed_ to put her through that.

When she pushed through the doors with all her might she found Tenten, a towel round her neck and drumsticks lodged inside her signature buns, frowning at her nervously as she wiped her brow. “Do you know where Neji went? It’s just that I need to—”

“No,” she replied, far too quickly to pretend like it mattered to her in that moment, and barged past her friend’s shoulder with an apologetic smile. “But if you see him, tell him not to wait for me—I’ll catch him up.”

Tenten blinked, gulping. “What are you doing?”

“Taking care of something,” she insisted. “Just go find Neji, Tenten. It’s obviously important.”

She waited for Tenten’s figure to disappear through the doors before scurrying towards the main dressing room, and listened with a burning hatred in her stomach to the giggles that sounded from within. They didn’t sound genuine, not in the slightest. Nor did the way she heard this woman say his name sound even nearly as good as when Temari said it. Her fingertips pressed against the doorknob, and grabbed it with a sharp huff.

It was excessive to throw open the door and scowl at him, but that didn’t stop her doing it. Deep down, she knew he didn’t deserve to be treated with such little respect, yet when she saw another girl perched on his lip, his jacket and her shirt strewn across the room, something ripped inside of her. There was no sudden joy, no gratification from ruining this moment for him, just an empty hole.

Shikamaru had torn the girl from his lap the moment he’d caught sight of her, an action which only made Temari feel more grotesque once he rose to his feet. He shot an apologetic frown to the half-naked woman before storming towards Temari without fear.

She could see the rage in his eyes when he stopped in front of her. She expected him to say something, anything, but he just let the silence hang frighteningly cold. All he offered was a nauseating shake of his head as he passed through the doorway and ran toward the fire exit, leaving Temari rife with fear and the guilt of what she’d done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you want to see a C9 poster, the wonderful loknnica captured the most perfect one if you haven't seen it already! Check it out:
> 
> https://twitter.com/loknnica/status/1281269627260108806?s=20
> 
> Please do let me know what you think of this fic as I'm having an absolutely blast with it and would love to hear your thoughts! :)


	6. Come Undone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: 'Come Undone' by Duran Duran

The door flew open at his touch, the sound of crashing metal echoing through her ears as she ran to catch it. When she reached it and dipped her head out into the alleyway, she could hear his breathing, the cursing under his breath before she saw him.

Like something from a nightmare, Shikamaru stood perfectly still with his back to her a few metres away, the rain pelting against his skin. Steam drifted out from deep within the drains as his hands balled tightly into fists, and the muscles in his arms quivered as they clenched. Temari took a nervous step out into the rain and ignored the shiver running across her shoulders. She couldn’t help her mouth falling over as she saw his body begin to shake, his winces just audible over the hammering rain, and the already crippling guilt in her stomach spread to every crevice of her body.

Too focused on himself, suffocating in his own self-pity, Shikamaru didn’t hear the great splash of a boot hitting a puddle. Every sound in the world felt minuscule, and he was already growing numb to the biting rain hitting his neck. It took all of his will not to bolt there and then, abandon his gear and this way of life forever—what kind of life was it if at every turn he had her haunting him, reminding him of what could have been?

But instead he squeezed his eyes shut as he took another step forward. He hoped that the distance between himself and the rest of them, even if just for the time it took to get through a cigarette might bring him peace. The problem was he couldn’t prise open his fists long enough to reach into his pocket, let alone light up. Frustration compressed his chest until he struggled to take even a single breath, and he could feel the burning in his eyes fighting for the spotlight.

“No,” he tried to growl, but only a weak whimper escaped his lips.

His head hung heavy as he scrunched up every inch of his face in protest, but he knew it was only a matter of time before the grief overtook him. Life couldn’t grow any more torturous if it tried, could it? 

“Shikamaru!”

Shikamaru found it impossible to believe she was real. As his heavy breathing overtook his mind, he realised he’d cried too many times over this woman to fall prey to her siren song once more. How could she follow—why would she dare do that? She knew what she was doing, so much was evident, and knowing that boiled Shikamaru’s blood until he saw spots.

He turned slowly, menacingly, and pursed his lips tightly together. Before him, dripping wet, Temari held her arms tight to her chest and, as if she’d been impossible to ignore before, her soaked shirt clung to her skin. The agonising expression flashing through her eyes should’ve been enough to render him senseless, but Shikamaru just couldn’t take it anymore.

“No,” he said, an ugly laugh lacing his tone. “You don’t get to do that.”

Temari’s eyebrows curved into a tortured frown. “Do what?”

“You don’t get to chase me just to look at me like that and say nothing.”

“Shikamaru, why are you—”

“No!” he growled. “Don’t pretend you don’t understand what’s wrong—you fucking know.” He bit down hard on his lip, shaking his head in disgust. “It’s amazing. I thought you’d at least have the respect not to rub it in like this.”

“I’m not rubbing in anything.” Amongst the apprehension that clambered to be heard and the malicious expression across his face, Temari was beginning to lose her calm. “You don’t get to make me feel ashamed for getting married, Shikamaru.”

He laughed; a most revolting noise. Temari nearly collapsed as she saw his lips pry back from his teeth into the most devastated smile she’d seen, but with every obnoxious expression he pulled she was finding it harder to control her own angry desperation.

“I’m not shaming you,” he insisted. “Do what you fucking want, love.” Then came that chuckle again, false and distressed. “You know what? While we’re at it: _congratulations_!”

Temari’s jaw clenched. “Shut up.”

Shikamaru’s eyebrows raised along with his voice. “You can’t do that!”

“You started this!”

“I didn’t!” he bellowed, his hands forming desperately tight claws in front of his chest. “ _You_ started this when you sat next to me at the bar! You said you’d be back!”

“Shikamaru, that was—”

“And it was you who always paraded yourself around!”

“Paraded?” she scoffed. “You’re disgusting!”

“Enlighten me, then! What the fuck else was your cigarette routine for if not to tease me? To keep me glued to the idea of you?”

Temari ceased up, her shoulders shuddering when his eyebrows lifted patronisingly.

“I thought as much,” he spat. “And just then, what was that about?” His pause wasn’t even long enough for her to take a shaky breath. “Why can’t you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Let me fucking move on!”

The silence hung heavy, uncomfortable in the humidity as the pair stared each other down. Their shoulders shifted with the rise and fall of violent breaths, and Temari could see the way he grimaced. His brutal tone, she now realised, had been the only thing holding the flood gates, and now his bloodshot eyes were ready to spill over. It was impossible to watch. Temari’s eyes were mere moments away from doing the same and yet she was powerless, frozen in disbelief. 

Although she wanted to take a step forward and reach out, not a muscle would move—not even her heart it felt like. _Move on._ He’d said it so selfishly, as though it had been easy for _her_ to do the same once he’d turned her down. In fact, he’d done _worse_ than turn her down; he’d blatantly ignored her and avoided ever since. Since she’d left her note Temari could count the occasions they’d spoken directly on one hand, and two of those had been today.

The woman had suffered. She’d smiled through every awkward nod from the stage and giggled through the questionable remarks Kankuro made about the two of them, acting as if nothing was wrong. Distinguishing who she’d been lying for was almost impossible, especially now as she stared down the man ahead of her. His arms fell limply at his sides, tired of the tightness and the struggle. He looked like he’d given up, and wasn’t even trying to hide it as he took a feeble step back from her.

A helpless moan slipped from her lips as she watched him rub his wet sleeve across his eyes, her stomach flipping over at a million miles an hour. She wanted to punch him and comfort him in equal measure, and such an amalgamation of feelings made her wonder if her past attempts at subtlety had impaired her more than anything else.

Her eyes widened as reality hit her.

“My note…”

Shikamaru peered out from behind his sleeve, his brows furrowing once more in confusion. “What?”

Temari could do nothing but scoff. “My note, Shikamaru. Did you read it?”

His eyes narrowed into a disapproving scowl. “You never gave me any note.”

“Yes, I did.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did!” she hissed. “You idiot—you didn’t find it?”

He raised his arms in disbelief. “There was nothing to find! I already told you, woman,” he growled, “you never gave me a fucking note!”

As Temari examined the way his lips snarled, she couldn’t help mimicking him. She shook her head and felt an equally gross chuckle accompany her expression. “I’ve felt like an absolute bitch—like it was _my_ fault everything was weird—all this time, and it was _your_ fucking incompetence all along!”

“My _incompetence_?” spat Shikamaru, and she saw his tears begin to ease up. “Are you _mad_?”

“Shut up…”

“No, what is _wrong_ with you?”

“What is wrong with _you_? Are you blind?”

There was no response, just a scrunching of his nose and a pathetic groan floated her way.

She took a step back, bewildered, and scoffed again. “Why the fuck else would I stuff my hand into your pocket?” she asked.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he mocked, “maybe because you’re an absolute nutcase.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me right, love. Nobody expects any less of you.”

“Take that back,” she warned.

“Why should I?” Shikamaru laughed, and suddenly the idea he’d ever been crying vanished from her mind. “You manhandled a stranger in a bar before, remember? It’s not like it’s beneath you or anything.”

Temari knew she should’ve predicted this change in character the minute she confronted him, but she couldn’t stop herself prodding the lion and storming through a puddle closer to him. “I was drunk, so don’t you dare hold that shit over me.”

He retreated slightly, a patronising tone overwhelming him. “So you did remember?”

“Of course I did, _moron_!” The gap of a few metres still seemed too far—she couldn’t break his nose from here. “At least I tried to say something, you coward!”

“And did a shit job of it!” he screamed. “Why couldn’t you just fucking _tell_ me?”

“I had a boyfriend, Shikamaru!”

“And now you have a _husband_. Looks like you fucked up, doesn’t it?”

As the words left his throat, hoarse from the yelling and the tears, Shikamaru could see her expression falter. Lost for words, she couldn’t seem to force a word through her parted lips, but anger rampaged behind her eyes. The look cemented a lingering thought in his mind; he wasn’t just maddened by her anymore, he was scared.

He watched her teeth grit together as her eyes hit the ground, snapping down to a crouch. “What’re you doing?” he hissed, shifting his feet anxiously. She grabbed a large shard of brick from beside her foot, and her eyes shot straight at him. Without hesitation she stood upright, narrowing her eyes as she took a step forward and raised her arm behind her head.

Shikamaru dashed forward as he saw her tight grip loosen slightly, and caught her forearm in his palm before she could throw it. “Woman, are you fucking crazy?” he screamed. “You could’ve killed me!”

Her eyes softened slightly at his shout, heavy breaths forcing their way through parted lips as her chest inflated rapidly. A sound, desperate and deprived, tore from Temari’s throat and instantly Shikamaru knew. Something clicked. She wanted him just as much as he needed her, and the moment that realisation hit him it was as though nothing else mattered. The way she moved with each breath just beckoned him closer, _begged_ him with that unmistakable look he’d seen just once before, and he couldn’t afford to wait a single second longer.

There was a crack as the brick fell from her hand.

They didn’t hear it hit the floor.

In the blink of an eye Temari felt the cold brickwork against the back of her hands, pinned together above her head by a single, strong palm. A shiver crept down her spine as his lips locked onto hers, his other hand toying with the lower hem of her skirt and edging further between her thighs with every passing moment. Temari shuddered and felt him smile against her mouth at her movement. He muttered something, a low growl drowned out by the lust to mere vibrations against her lips, a breath which begged her to bite down on his sharply.

His wince sent her spiralling as his palm freed hers and flew to her behind, but for a second she couldn’t bring herself to let her hands fall—something in her mind was still bound by him to stay where he had put her, do as she was told. She clawed the brickwork as he lifted her, never tearing her eyes from his. The fingertips of his free hand ran across the fabric between her thighs, her hips bucking helplessly at the contact. It wasn’t nearly enough.

Temari tore down her hands and nestled one behind his ear, her fingertips tugging loose wet hair from his ponytail as the other arm snaked around his neck. She clung tightly to the fabric of his sleeve and pulled as she felt two fingers push aside her underwear. For a moment he stopped dead, and retreated from the kiss, panting as his eyes fixed on hers. A victorious smirk flew across his lips as he heard her whimper and he revelled in the way her breath hitched when his fingers edged deeper.

When her eyes squeezed shut and her head pressed heavy against the bricks Temari’s neck opened up, exposing her collarbone and cleavage to him in a way Shikamaru couldn’t resist. His mouth captured her neck and nipped at her skin, oblivious to the awkward angle at which he’s trapped his wrist between the two of them. However, she did nothing to complain, her hand in his hair pushing him further down to her bust, desperately panting with every new sensation of pressure from his fingers. It was difficult for him not to bite down harder on the top of her breast; the longing to make her scream almost overwhelmed every sensical thought in his mind, but he settled for the open-mouthed moans that rang through his ears. It was a perfect song, and one he couldn’t let end.

Her whole body shuddered as a violent flash of pleasure overtook her, and Shikamaru felt her thighs quivering. The tugging on his shirt sent him into overdrive, and when he heard a sharp tear he jolted once more. Shikamaru raised his head from her chest to join a helplessly lustful stare, shaking his head slightly as she panted at him. He felt cruel tearing his hand from the warmth between her legs, but the gasp of his name and the glow of neon light reflecting in her devilish eyes was too much for him. His hand flew to her hair as he pushed his hips flush against her, capturing her lips more obsessively than ever.

Still adjusting from her initial high, Temari kissed back through hitched breaths. Her want forced her hips to grind against the hardness she felt beneath her, earning her a most incredible groan from the man she held. She didn’t stop when he leaned his face into hers, his arm expertly weaved behind her; only raked her fingernails across his skin through the fabric of his shirt.

Shikamaru kissed with more intensity than she’d remembered; more intensity, more fire. She could only assume it was the heat which had been incessantly burning, just as long as her own, but it barely mattered to her right then. She could feel his grip soften momentarily, and she knew instantly that this is what it should always be, how it should always feel. Not the desperation or the heat of tears, but the tingle of his fingers on the back of her neck, weaving through her hairline brought about a swelling in her chest she’d never before felt accompanying the heat in her stomach.

But it wasn’t enough.

She needed more.

“Shikamaru?”

He hummed sweetly onto her lips, his eyes fluttering open, and Temari’s mouth grew bone dry. The look those eyes held was like nothing she’d ever seen. As fingers traced his jaw and Shikamaru’s expression softened, the hunger replaced by fear. It was as though a single word from her might shatter him—shatter this illusion of the two of them he clung to so desperately. She couldn’t bear how she felt the same.

Her legs tightened around him and she bit down on her lip. “Just fucking give it to me.”

Shikamaru didn’t need to be told twice. As she pried her legs from his waist, he missed the heat of her body before her boots even hit the floor. A jolt flew through his abdomen when she groaned at his touch.

Before his hands could even reach round from her behind to the fastener of his jeans hers were already tugging at the zip. Her fingers toyed with elastic and Shikamaru, dying to hide the vulnerable moan clawing at the back of his throat, grabbed her hips with a firm grunt and spun her around. For a split second he saw a devilish glint race through her eyes, but he didn’t need inspiring further. He had already torn away their underwear by the time she even moaned his name.

The way her back arched and her nails scraped the wall as he entered her spoke volumes. It left him a panting mess as he tried to settle into a rhythm, unable to fight the urge to move fast. But when his hand grasped her hair and pulled her head back, he forced himself to keep still, waiting for her hips to roll, to beg him for more.

Of course, she obliged. As he drew his face closer she felt his hot breath on her neck, hastening with every thrust, and Temari couldn’t help turning slightly in the hope he’d be right there. She saw a faint flash of black hair and shot her arm behind her, desperately grabbing for it, for something to touch—to _feel_ the man who was sending such sensation through her. When she struck gold she held tightly, pulling until a deep, raspy moan sounded in her ear. Temari found herself grinning as his pace quickened, proud of her attempts and reigniting his animalistic rhythm.

Temari tried to say his name but voiced a mere whimper. She was beginning to unravel, coming apart his every touch. When he grasped her breast and sunk himself in deeper, her knees grew weak with a perfect storm of pleasure and desperation. The idea of stopping seemed impossible, and as she felt his grip tighten on her she tried to forget that it might ever happen. With each movement, a million different nerves sent shivers through her body. He knew his way around her as if it came simply to him. She came undone so easily it was as though this was the hundredth time. She prayed there would be a hundredth time; one filled with as much ferocity and grit as this—the first.

Watching her fall to pieces in his hands was sending Shikamaru to heights he’d never reached. It was so easy, too easy, to feel blissful with her like this. He gritted his teeth as he worked hard to hold back, but the heat, the pulling, the grinding against him was all too much. The way she begged with every twitch of her body sent him reeling, and he just couldn’t bear it.

“Temari,” he groaned, listening for the whimper he somehow knew would follow to tell him it was okay. When it did—when her breathing hitched and her behind pressed him as deep into her as he could go—Shikamaru could feel her walls tightening around him and a sudden, impossible surge of heat against his erection. Pushing her forward to angle himself perfect, he surged forward with one final thrust and took in the convulsions from every inch of her body as he joined her climax.

She could feel his legs tremble as they fell together, one hand flush against the brickwork beside her own. As their breathing slowed she edged her fingertips to the side, weaving them between his as if they weren’t already as close as they could be.

The rain and the sweat mixed, the pair were overcome with the pleasure of such a release. It had been so long, too long, that Shikamaru had waited for this moment for him not to hold her hand as tightly as he held her body close.

Then he felt it—the cold pang of metal against his knuckle, and his eyes fluttered open once more to see her wedding ring staring him down. But, terrible as it was, Shikamaru couldn’t pull himself away. He engorged himself in the feeling of her, all of her, being his even just for this moment.

“I love you, Tem,” he whispered, his voice a despairing growl in her ear, terrified of the response it would elicit. “You know that?”

Temari’s head fell back onto his shoulder, and her hand tightened around his as if she’d remembered, too. He could feel her heart beating as she drew their joined hands to her chest, desperate to keep him close, and heard a pathetic laugh as he hugged her from behind. There was no disguising the tears in her trembling voice when she finally replied, “I know that _now_ , Shikamaru. I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think of this chapter!! Whatever the case, please check out the amazing artwork by loknnica that accompanies this chapter! It’s honestly the most beautiful thing ♥️
> 
> https://twitter.com/loknnica/status/1284491465406783488?s=21


	7. She's Thunderstorms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: 'She's Thunderstorms' by Arctic Monkeys
> 
> (AKA a song that may as well be written about C9 Temari)

Temari peered her head around the fire exit, the drips from her hair instantly forming a puddle at her feet, and gave the man behind her a quick nod when she was sure the coast was clear. He scarpered round the side of her, giving her hand a grateful squeeze before pushing the wet strands of hair from his eyes and making his way to the back of the stage. As he walked away, Shikamaru could still hear the unpredictable clicking of her boots as she paced out in the alley, ringing in his ears, and fought the urge to turn and run back outside, grinning smugly at the clumsy way she now walked. However, as proud as he was of himself, the fear of who might turn the corner any second propelled him forward.

His body was awash with emotion—more feelings flooding him at once than he was sure he’d ever felt in his life. That proud smile and his weak knees barely scratched the surface of what went through his racing mind, only a brief insight into the rollercoaster he rode throughout the corridors. But his heart pounded at a thousand miles an hour, each beat a flash of love and adrenaline soaring through him; a nervous spike jolting him forward every time he imagined a voice nearby.

He didn’t know what to expect from her the next time he caught her eye, or whether this was their beginning or their end—he _prayed_ it wasn’t the end—but he knew at once that everything around him had shifted. The air felt warmer against the sweat on his back, clearer and easier to take in with each shaking breath.

However, the lingering taste of her lipstick left a sharp tang of guilt the moment he began to see those posters line the walls. But, desperate to cling to the excitement, Shikamaru averted his eyes. In his mind, it was a problem for another day, but the storm cloud still loomed overhead, clapping when each voice around him sounded.

When he grabbed his gear and threw his bass over his shoulder without a glance shot his way, it became clear to him that the stagehands had seen too many, much stranger, things to question the way he looked right now. He breathed a sigh of relief when he escaped back out into the corridor and made a beeline for the dressing room door.

Shikamaru grasped the handle, a nervous shudder running across his shoulders, and took a deep breath. His eyes squeezed shut as he threw it open, terrified of who might stand before him when he pried them open once more, and tried his best to ignore the drips of rain and sweat crawling down his face.

When no sound filtered through the door, he forced them open with gritted teeth.

The dressing room, thankfully, was empty.

It wasn’t unexpected, and he could hardly blame Azumi for running. After all, it couldn't have felt good to be abandoned, half-naked, with no idea if or when the man who’d left you would return.

Shikamaru didn’t know whether to regret his actions tonight, amongst the rush and the rampant emotion he’d barely had a moment to reflect, but there was undoubtedly guilt swarming him for upsetting Azumi. It was a feeling so great that when he reached the spot he knew he’d thrown his jacket, he couldn’t bring himself to be mad at the fact it was gone, nor her spite of taking it on her way out.

Yes, he certainly could have done with it right now—the gaping tear in his sleeve that Temari had made was hardly subtle, and the walk home would undoubtedly be cold—but Shikamaru couldn’t help feeling he owed her _something_ as an apology. So, if that apology was satisfied by her stealing his expensive jacket, that was more than fine with him.

The thought of facing her next time they headlined The Flame, however, didn’t exactly fill him with joy.

“What are you doing?”

The bassist turned sharply, eyes focusing instantly on Kankuro's figure in the doorway. He watched as eyes narrowed and arms crossed, and Shikamaru adjusted the straps of his guitar case, fidgeting.

“What’s wrong?” Kankuro clicked the door shut and stepped into the centre of the room, cocking his head to one side slightly. “Shikamaru, why are you soaking wet?”

His gaze flickered to the ground and he rubbed his neck slightly. “It's raining,” he muttered. “I went out for a cigarette.”

“Why? You can smoke in here.”

“I needed some fresh air.”

A cold flash of fear swept across Shikamaru’s shoulders as his friend hurried closer and sniffed dramatically for smoke as he came up in front of him. Kankuro’s brow furrowed, causing a nervous chuckle to crack in Shikamaru’s throat. He watched the keyboardist’s eyes jump between his shoulder and his face before shaking his head in disbelief.

“Temari.”

Shikamaru gulped and shook his head violently. “Man, it’s not what it—”

“It’s _exactly_ what it looks like,” Kankuro scoffed. “Shikamaru, I know it’s her. I can smell her fucking perfume and you’ve got purple lipstick all over you.”

“I just—”

“Look at _this_!” He pinched the tear in his sleeve. “What is _this_ , man?”

“Kankuro...”

“She’s _married_ , Shikamaru,” he sighed. “What happened to getting over her?”

He spoke in a tone far too soft and far too somber for Shikamaru to keep his cool. In an instant he was biting his lip, his teeth pressed so deep that a metallic taste began to creep onto his tongue, and a white hot feeling seared across his cheeks.

“Where is she?”

Shikamaru ducked down, his head heavy with guilt and vision clouded by embarrassment. “I don’t know,” he mumbled nervously. “I left her outside.”

Without a moment's notice, Kankuro flew out of the room. Footsteps hammered down the corridor as he ran to the exit, a horrendous echo deafening Shikamaru over and over again. It felt as though each tap was a hammer to his temple, a shot of pain to remind him of the guilt that rocketed through his veins. He strained to listen with baited breath, shaky and helpless, for the shouting he expected to fly through the walls, but when the silence lingered, and the crack of Kankuro’s footsteps sounded again, Shikamaru couldn’t help breathing a sigh of relief.

She was gone and, as terrible as it felt to know she’d run from him after their encounter, he was grateful. If she was gone, she was safe—even if just for now—from feeling as mortified as he did in this moment. She wouldn’t have to feel the terror he did, or fall under the disappointed eyes of her brother as he had. 

She was safe without him, yet selfishly he couldn’t help wishing she was here. 

Kankuro appeared in the doorway, his hood up and spotted with rain. “ _Go_ ,” he commanded, nodding towards the fire exit.

Shikamaru snapped out his hazy thoughts as he frowned and shuffled forward. “What?”

“Go home. I’ll deal with Neji, for now.”

“Please, dont.”

He sighed. “I’m not going to tell him,” he said. “That's not my place.”

“Kankuro—”

“I hate you both, and I’m not clearing up your shit,” he continued at a whisper, “but there’s nothing I can say that’s going to change how both of you feel.”

Suddenly the gear on his back felt heavier with the weight of Kankuro’s words, and unable to speak, Shikamaru’s bottom lip began to tremble with nervous guilt, loathing the evident disappointment in his voice.

“Hey.” Kankuro nudged his friend’s shoulder, pushing him out of the dressing room gently. “It was only a matter of time,” he mumbled. “It’s what you do next that matters.”

* * *

When he dragged his feet around the corner, the last thing he needed was to see her leaning against his front door, head thrown back against the wood. Her foot pressed flush against the door, her eyes squeezed shut as she mumbled incoherently to herself, tapping her motorcycle helmet against it.

She could never just be subtle, could she?

If he wasn’t choked up from just seeing her, Shikamaru surely would’ve scolded her for riding that damned thing here with her legs bare—it terrified him to think what could’ve happened to her in the torrential rain—but, as so often was the case in her presence, his muscles seized up.

He let his bag fall to the floor, a sound that rattled down the hall so quickly he barely even saw Temari’s head turn. Before he could blink, her eyes were trained on him, glistening brighter the moment he locked onto them.

“You took your time,” she smiled. “I thought you were in a rush.”

As he watched her push off the wall and beckon him closer, Shikamaru could feel his lips desperate to pull taut into a stupid grin. But with Kankuro’s words echoing in his ears, he found himself bending down to grab his bag and surging forward, his lip pinched tightly between his teeth to hide that smile. “You shouldn’t have come here.”

“You thought I _wouldn’t_?”

His free hand rooted around for his keys as he came up alongside her and gulped as he felt her fingertips wrap around his wrist to stop him reaching for the doorknob. Their silence was broken only by a large clap of thunder, sparking Shikamaru’s eyes to dart around. Across her expression, there flashed an undeniable fear as he furrowed his brow, but her grip only tightened. Shikamaru winced.

“Temari,” he sighed, tossing his bag against his door in defeat, “what are you doing?”

Without hesitation her hands snaked around his waist, his bass trapped between him and her slender arms. She held him tightly, not caring about his soaking wet clothing as she looked up at him. Her gaze was so warm, so hopeful, that Shikamaru couldn’t stop his fingertips resting against her waist. He could feel her shudder at his touch and saw her eyes narrow as, with a gentle smile, one of her hands rose to his cheek and wiped away a falling droplet. Her touch was so soft, so feather-like, that Shikamaru couldn’t help enveloping her in a proper hug.

There was no denying what she meant by her sigh as she pushed her forehead hard against his shoulder, and he could feel the melancholic edge to the patterns her fingertips traced across his skin. Her spritely tone and sweet smiles couldn’t brush aside the truth completely; shards of reality threatened to pierce the bubble the two had built around themselves in this perfect moment. Now that time had slowed, and every touch and shaky breath between them could be savoured as they wanted, it was impossible to ignore the elephant in the room.

He felt the familiar sting of metal on his collarbone, a sensation which brought to the front of his mind the thing they both longed to forget. 

Shikamaru wasn’t stupid; he could smell his cologne in her hair, taste her sweat on his lips. He had made her his and she had let him, but it had backed her into a corner. Temari might’ve come here, to his home, because she _wanted_ to—he even _believed_ that she did—but that almost didn’t matter.

She _couldn’t_ go home to Neji; not like this.

Carefully removing his hand from her figure, Shikamaru reached for the doorknob blindly, pausing as he finally turned the key. “Where did you park your bike?” he whispered, his voice muffled by her waterlogged hair.

Temari sniffed, shaking her head as she forced her face out from his neck. “A couple of roads over.”

“Did anyone see you come here?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Good.”

Shikamaru’s hand returned to the small of her back, pushing open the door and kicking his bag inside his home as he captured her lips, and Temari didn’t hesitate to kiss back. They fell through the door, kicking it shut behind them.

_It’s what you do next that matters._

He didn’t forget those words, but he couldn’t help thinking that _nothing_ , right or wrong, could’ve mattered more than her.

* * *

Their feet were tangled together amongst the sheets. Once cold and crisp, the white fabric cascaded in perfect waves across their limbs, a soft musky smell floating through the air. Since he’d thrown open the door and dragged her inside, barely a word had been shared between them, and the trail of clothes and boots leading to his bedroom appeared as though every action had been as almost urgent as the first time. That, however, couldn’t have been further from the truth.

Fingers hadn’t gripped or nails scratched; hands had roamed slowly as though every lingering touch had a purpose, imagined so long in advance not a moment seemed real. Every movement was gentle, every syllable soft and sweet with smiles. His eyes had danced across her body in awe as he held her in his lap, in awe of how he was finally feeling her skin against his own, and he was unable to shake the feeling that this is what they had meant to be all along. They didn’t need to speak, and they didn’t need to rush; all they needed was to feel—to let it sink in that this was real. Both of them were real, together, and suddenly somehow whole.

Temari couldn’t help but feel that Shikamaru’s fingers were made to brush down her torso, up her thighs, and even once his eyes had fluttered shut against the pillow she could feel the paths they’d traced. His hair, ruffled from his ponytail, splayed out across the white in perfect black veins. She hooked her little finger beneath a strand and twisted, wrapping it loosely around, and watched his mouth curve into a subtle smile. Copying him didn’t even cross her mind, but she found herself grinning.

Nothing in her life had ever felt so natural; no decision she'd ever make would be better or worse all at once. The danger didn’t linger in here as it had in the alleyway. Her ring didn’t suffocate her finger, merely perched on the bedside table, as good as forgotten. In here with him, in his home and in his arms, Temari felt at peace for the first time in so many years.

Then the thunder cracked again and her body squirmed a little closer to his, her movement and the bright flash of lightning through the open shutters forcing his eyes open. Temari locked onto the deep brown the moment she saw it, and humming to herself slightly as the warmth of relief spread throughout her chest. 

“Hey,” he mumbled, blinking the beginnings of sleep from his eyes as he propped himself up on his elbow, “are you scared?”

She shook her head, nestling it deeper into the pillow with a soft smile. “No,” she insisted. “Storms are wild, but that just makes them even more beautiful to me.”

“That sounds familiar.”

“Very funny.” She reached out to brush her fingertips along his jawline, and softened her expression as he leaned into her touch. “You know Kankuro’s afraid of storms? And how he always kept you up on the tour bus to distract him?” she whispered, waiting for the groaning chuckle to affirm that he remembered. “Back when we were little, before she died, our mother used to sing to us to calm him down. I think that’s why he wants to hear voices—I know I do.”

Shikamaru’s eyes softened, and as his lips parted she could see him desperately grasping for the right words to say. She paused as she waited for him to speak, a fullness swarming in her stomach at the thought he cared so much he’d try this hard. However, when he suddenly threw the covers back and hauled himself out of bed, throwing on some pants as he disappeared into the hallway, Temari couldn't help sitting up in surprise.

As she held the sheets loosely against her chest, white flashes broke through the shutters, painting bright stripes of light across her skin. When Shikamaru reappeared his bass was slung across his bare chest, and he sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. Temari only caught a brief glimpse of his eyes, narrow with determination, before his fingers began to pluck and dance across the strings carefully. The riff was intricate—too intricate to appreciate on an unplugged bass—and yet the gentle twang soared through her body as though it was the most beautiful sound she’d ever heard.

Shikamaru’s eyes squeezed shut as he took a deep breath and began to sing, his voice softer than Temari had ever heard it before. The notes sounded so effortless, so much warmer in tone than the backing vocals she’d heard him sing before.

He paused as a chuckle fell from his lips, and when he sang again, Temari was too deafened by his beauty to understand a single word. Despite the fact he didn’t look at her, she couldn’t take her eyes off of him; the sheen of sweat gluing hair to his forehead and the white of his smile as he sang too perfect for words. This hadn’t been the first time she’d been sung to, but every other occasion paled in comparison to this. The way he swayed, how he lost himself in the deep and brooding sounds, and tapped his foot carefully against the floorboards, all shot shivers through Temari like she’d never felt before.

Their eyes didn’t need to meet for her to understand what he was singing about, what he was saying with each wispy word or sharp intake of breath. She didn’t even have to _ask_ to receive this incredible gift. Shikamaru had sang for her in the hope it might show her he understood, but it told her so much more than he could’ve hoped. The storm raged on outside, and yet the quiet mumble of his guitar shot through the room like the weather was still. For all Temari cared, it could go on forever so long as she could stay in with him, tied up in love, sheets and the sound of his voice humming in her ears.

Far too soon for her liking, he stopped, eyes raising as he smiled at her. “She’s thunderstorms,” he said, his tone level and soft. “Thank you.”

Temari scoffed in disbelief as she shuffled closer to him. “Thank _you_ ,” she said. “That was beautiful.”

A fire swarmed in her stomach as he chuckled, and reached for his bedside table for a raggedy old notebook. “I’ve been trying to figure this out for months but I couldn’t think of a single lyric until just now,” he told her, as he began scribbling. “The riff would sound better on guitar. If Neji got his hands on it he’d make it so much bet—”

“Don’t.” She knew from the way his eyes shot up that she’d spoken too quickly, too terrified for him not to bite down on his lip. Instantly, a painful shot of embarrassment flushed her cheeks, only just fighting back the nauseous feeling in her stomach. “It’s _your_ song, Shikamaru,” she insisted. “Please don’t let him change it.”

Shikamaru chuckled, eyebrows raising slightly. “You’re only saying that because you heard it like this first. You’re biased.”

“You bet I am,” she scoffed, grinning. As she rested her chin on his shoulder, Temari began to trace the antlers inked into his skin. “I’ve always preferred bass riffs to guitar riffs, anyway.”

His eyebrows raised a little further.

“Okay, maybe not _always_.”

For a moment he paused, letting his laughter ring out as he snapped shut the notebook and tossed it to the corner of the room. She felt his head lean against her own, and his hand reached for her thigh through the wrinkled bed sheets. Temari let her eyes flutter shut as he gave her a comforting squeeze, the run of repetitive notes ringing triumphantly in her ears.

“Your note,” she heard Shikamaru mumble after a moment, a gentle chuckle in his voice, “what did it say?”

The kiss she pressed onto his shoulder left her lips tingling as she sighed. “Not nearly as much as I wanted it to. I couldn’t sum up how much you mean to me on the back of a ticket even if I had a knife to my throat,” she chuckled, “but that doesn’t matter to me now.”

“It doesn’t?”

“Of course not.” She smiled and took a deep breath. “ _I’m here_.”


	8. Wonder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: 'Wonder' by PARAFFIN
> 
> (which is not yet out, but is too inspirational not to credit)

It was the sound of rushing water that woke Temari, and not against the window as it had been last night. Echoing through the corridors was the warm buzz of the shower, a fuzzy sound that bled through the apartment and left a gentle hum in her ears. She could feel the heat of the sun brushing across her skin as it filtered through the shutters, a blush of gold against the sheets that she welcomed with open arms.

Despite waking up surrounded by walls covered in foreign wallpaper, under sheets that didn’t belong to her, it didn’t take a moment to remember where she was. If the warm smell of smoke and cologne wasn't enough, seeing the bass guitar propped against the wardrobe when she rolled over made it impossible not to understand. A small smile spread across her lips as her eyes locked onto the guitar, and suddenly she noticed the way Shikamaru’s voice drifted through the air.

The sound, muffled by the shower, gave her goosebumps. She could remember his song and the way he’d smiled as he’d sung to her, a tired haze in both their eyes while note followed note until a most beautiful silence. After that she barely remembered falling asleep, but she remembered the kisses he’d placed in her hair as they lay down, too wrapped up in each other in that moment to ever think about letting go. Somehow, she realised, hearing his voice through the water and the walls made her feel as though his arms were still tight around her waist.

Temari rubbed her eyes as she hauled herself off the bed, and sifted through the nearest drawer she could find for something large enough to cover herself. When she succeeded she pulled the shirt over her head and found herself giggling slightly when she read the print across the front.

“Cloud Nine...” she whispered. “The idiot wears his own merch.”

She took a minute to look at herself in the mirror; the mess she’d made of her hair, and the eyeliner which appeared to be everywhere but around her eyes. It almost made her wonder how Shikamaru had looked at her last night and with the tenderness he had. But, before the self-deprecation could kick in, her eyes were swiftly torn away.

Across the room, in the reflection, she could see a pop of bright colour against the wood. When she narrowed her eyes slightly she could see its tattered edges, dog eared pages that were yellowed with age.

“His songs…”

Temari frowned as she skirted around the bed towards the corner he’d tossed it last night, and grabbed at it with excitable fingers before falling back onto the mattress. She knotted her legs into a cross and hunched over slightly as she flicked it open to the most recent page. Strewn across the paper, not even slightly between the guidelines, were the words he’s sung to her last night, and reading them now was almost as emotional as hearing them had been. Even written down she could hear the little chuckles in his voice and feel the vibrations of his bass through her fingertips.

She could feel herself beginning to tear up as she neared the end of his scribbles and turned away for a moment, smiling, but it wasn’t long before her curiosity got the better of her.

Hearing that the shower still whirred, Temari took her chance to be nosy and flipped through the pages from front to back, observing the ominous black scribbles, repetitive letters and hashtags. It became clear quite quickly, from the odd word here or there, that Shikamaru had written almost all of the songs she’d heard them play in this book.

She couldn’t help but feel slightly embarrassed by the fact that she, as their manager, had never realised how huge a role he played. Maybe it was thanks to the way she’d sat through so many guitar solos back home, so much tinkering around with notes until it all flowed perfectly, that she hadn’t considered it might not have been Neji who’d laid the foundations.

But now she knew, every detail made that tiniest bit more sense. She understood why so many songs began with a bass riff, or why those riffs slotted together so perfectly with Kiba’s sleazy tone. Like Shikamaru himself, it was so effortlessly clever—a simple brilliance that was built to be admired. Built but him and his clever fingers to be adored by all.

And adore it, she did.

The lack of lyrics in this notebook, however, did not go unnoticed. It didn't surprise her; Temari knew that Kiba was the wordsmith of the group, and understood first-hand how Shikamaru didn’t mince his words. For that reason, yesterday had amazed her all the more. To see him think of something so beautiful, so quickly, didn’t seem real.

Her eyes widened when she turned the page to an entire page of lyrics. No chords, no scribbles, just words split into perfect pockets. It was still him—the strange way he joined his letters so brutally similar to the first page she had read—but it seemed impossible.

“She looks at me with love in her eyes,” she read aloud, “and it’s as though I’ve seen the stars.” She bit down her lip. “But the shadow man behind my eyes says she’s the Earth and I am Mars…”

It didn’t read like Shikamaru. Even amongst the beauty of last night's song, he’d thrown in his usual quips and smirked at the poor attempts at insults, but what sat before her was painfully pure. What she read clearly wasn’t written on a whim. The letters were too gentle and on the line. He’d even titled it atop the page with three lines beneath it.

_Wonder._

As she read on, Temari could hear a melody rolling through the back of her mind; a sweet and foreboding beat spurring her to open her mouth and let the words flow.

She didn’t hear the water shut off over her voice, but _he_ heard _her_.

The sound carried like birdsong on a clear morning, a sweet and comforting call of the wild begging him to hurry back to his room. Shikamaru threw aside the curtain as his jaw dropped, near-on scrambling across the tiles to escape the confines of the bathroom. But as he reached the hall, towel slung around his waist, he could hear the words she sang.

A shiver flew down his spine.

She’d found it.

His cheeks burned a fiery red as he shuffled through the hallway into his bedroom, stopping the moment he reached the threshold.

She sat with her back to him, thankfully, and Shikamaru rubbed his face. His shoulder pressed against the wall, the shot of cold paralysing him almost as effectively as her voice.

There was a moment where she paused, and he didn’t dare take a breath. He didn’t want her to turn and see him in fear that she might see his blush or, even worse, that she might stop. She pushed her hair back from her eyes and cocked her head to one side as she continued on, and he let out a sigh of relief.

“ _Surely, she must know just how far I'll go_ …”

There was a soft hitch in her voice—an imperfection in pitch so stunning that every whimsical thought in his mind overpowered the fear to leave him smiling. His bare feet padded slightly across the floorboards as he crossed his arms. 

“ _To win her heart and call her mine_ , _from now until—_ ”

“Until the end of time.”

Shikamaru didn’t even realise he’d spoken until her head turned, mortification soaring through her expression. He could see the way she snapped shut the notebook and jumped to her feet, tossing it onto the bed as though it hadn’t so clearly just been in her hands. It wasn’t easy for him to disregard the look in her eyes, much like it wasn’t easy to hide the fact he mirrored it, but he knew the woman well enough to know not to dwell on it.

She’d make it clear if she was truly upset, no doubt.

He nodded casually to the bed. “So, you found it, then.”

“What?” Temari scoffed, her false ignorance difficult not to laugh at.

“ _Wonder_.”

Silence.

Shikamaru cleared his throat awkwardly when she turned away, and shuffled closer to her. “I didn’t know you could sing.”

“I didn’t know _you_ wrote this much.”

“Touché,” he chuckled as he grabbed a pair of boxers from the drawer she’d so clearly left open and pulled them on as he moved closer to her. “You weren’t meant to find that, you know?”

She bit down on her lip and narrowed her eyes as he settled, crouched in front of her. “ _You_ weren’t meant to hear me singing—I don’t sing in front of anyone.”

“Well, I’m honoured I did.”

Temari’s eyes rolled to the back of her head. “If you didn’t want me snooping through your stuff, you should hide it better.”

“Ah, right. I should’ve known that it’s my fault that you’re nosy,” he said. He gestured to her shirt. “I suppose it’s my fault you’re stealing my clothes, too.”

“Of course.”

With a smile, the man sat down properly and reached for the notebook. However, before he could grab it, Temari took it back in her hands and flicked straight to the page in question, her lips pursed into a thin line.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, resting his hand on her knee.

“Nothing’s wrong, Shikamaru.”

“You’re a good liar, but I’m better. Trust me.”

Her eyes warmed as they wandered back across the page, and he could’ve sworn he saw a smile settle in them. “Was this written for Cloud Nine?”

Shikamaru shook his head with a soft chuckle. “Not a chance. It’s a bit, um…”

“ _Depressing_?”

“Depressing works, yeah,” he agreed. “Cloud Nine doesn’t exactly do ‘ _depressing_ ’ love songs.”

“ _Shikamaru Nara_ clearly does.” Temari looked to him, eyebrows slightly raised. Somehow, after hearing her sing, every sharp syllable sounded softer; sweeter and more careful than before. Even when she sighed, Shikamaru could’ve sworn her breath wasn’t nearly as harsh. “Who was it for?”

“Tem…”

“You can tell me,” she said. “I won’t get upset.”

He raised his eyebrows, a hint of blush returning to his cheeks. “Seriously?” he asked, almost snorting when she frowned at him. “Are you blind?”

It wasn’t meant to be snide, or to make her curl her lip the way it did, it just so happened that Shikamaru couldn’t bring himself to tell her the truth so explicitly without splitting himself in half.

The song she’d just read, that she’d made her own so much more beautifully than he had himself, had bared his soul. And, by the look in her eyes, she knew it. It was a fact so scary that it made him smile all the brighter in the hope he wouldn’t have to explain it.

In this light, her eyes shone a hint more green than usual, reflecting back a whole host of feelings he couldn’t quite comprehend. Before anything else registered, however, he could see a self-consciousness in her. It was so strange to acknowledge that this woman, this _irritatingly perfect_ woman, might feel awkward about herself in any way, but Shikamaru flashed her a broad smile all the same.

Vulnerability was something he could see she had shied away from—it was clear from the moment he’d met her—and yet since last night he had been scratching away at her with his words and with his touch like a lottery ticket. Each time he looked in her eyes he felt as though he saw a little deeper into her soul and felt her reach further into his.

The lyrics raced through her mind on repeat, hopelessly searching for some indication of what he was expecting her to know. Surely it couldn’t be so obvious, and she couldn’t be so stupid, that she could let his grin grow so wide? She felt her own face grow hot and her ears burn as she scanned the page in front of her. Nothing seemed to make sense. Shikamaru couldn’t be the man in the song—it had to be a rouse. He’d never been so desperate for anyone to love him, surely.

Temari couldn’t tell why he was looking at her the way he did, with an expression so loaded; almost ready to pounce on her. Usually it would infuriate her, make her snap, but instead she found herself intrigued by the way he smiled, his cheeks growing redder by the second. His brown eyes were warm, drips running down his face and torso from his hair. It took her back to the night before—the pouring rain and the sweat. She remembered the ravenous look in his eyes, and the tenderness of his touch as he held her hand, as he told her everything with three simple words.

Temari dropped the notebook; a soft scuffing of paper against the wood. She could just about hear him scoff through the numb silence.

Without a moment’s notice, Temari edged off the edge of the bed, falling to her knees on the floor in front of him, and crashed her lips into his own. Her hands tightly grabbed his face as she felt him begin to kiss back, a smile clearly trying to pull his lips taut against hers. Shikamaru rested his hands on top of her own, calloused fingertips brushing gentle against her knuckles. She wanted to stay like this forever.

_Until the end of time…_

Sighing, she pulled away slightly, and smiled as she felt his hands travel down to rest atop her thighs.

“No way,” she said in disbelief, and Shikamaru began to laugh as her mouth fell open. “What? What are you laughing at?”

“You,” he told her, calmly. “Why is this so difficult for you to comprehend?”

“Were you not under the impression that I was ‘an absolute nutcase’ until a few hours ago?”

Shikamaru bit down on his bottom lip and turned his palm to face upwards expectantly. “I’m still under that impression, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”

He could see Temari’s muscles tighten, and straight away the words left an unpleasant taste in his mouth. It suddenly crossed his mind that because she’d said the same last night didn’t mean she’d signed a contract to repeat it, nor did she have to accept his words without complaint. Blurting out feelings wasn’t exactly a specialty of his, and, for all he knew, the rain could’ve washed away that sentence from her mind completely.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, avoiding her eyes. “I know that’s probably not what a married woman wants to hear.” His fist balled nervously and he began to retract it from her leg, but Temari quickly grabbed and pulled it close to her chest.

“Shikamaru,” she said, “when did you write that song?”

He gulped. “I don’t know. About a year ago, maybe?”

Temari frowned. “You’ve been in love with me enough to write _that_ for a year, and you said _nothing_?”

“You know I couldn’t say anything, Tem. Even if I did, I know you couldn’t have—”

Her lips stopped him again as she crawled into his lap, a forceful kiss making him fall silent. “You’re an idiot,” she whispered. “And you can quit acting like a lost puppy. I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“But you’re—”

“Yes, I _know_ I’m married, but I still fucking love you.” Temari twiddled a piece of his hair around her thumb and felt his body tense up. “I hate that sentence, too. I’m sorry,” she sighed. “I just can’t believe that I could’ve been with you all this time. All this time you’ve loved me, and only now that it’s too late did I realise.”

He cleared his throat awkwardly as he nodded. “Now here we are, having an affair.”

Instantly he knew he’d said it too casually. It was in his nature to be blunt, and while he knew she understood that, it didn’t make his tone any less disturbing. He could feel the skin crawling on his back at the acknowledgement of the word, but he knew at some point it had to be put out into the open.

However, he still regretted it as the air shifted around them.

“That’s what this is, isn’t it?” she asked calmly, only the slightest quiver in her throat. “Even if it’s just this one time—” Shikamaru jolted, a knife twisting in his gut at the thought. “—it’s still an affair, and I don’t know what to do.” There was a pause as she tugged on his hair, watching the droplets fall to the ground. “I don’t want to hurt Neji, I never would, but I can’t _bear_ the thought of never coming back here—never being with you again, like this.”

Her eyes shifted to join him in a sorrowful stare, and instantly the warmth of his eyes on her flushed her cheeks. “Shikamaru,” she whimpered, “I’ve waited too long for this— _we’ve_ waited too long.”

Shikamaru squeezed her hand tightly, and let his forehead fall against hers. No moment was ever going to be the right time to address what loomed over them, but with her so close to him—moulded to him—it somehow felt as though nothing could break them apart. Whatever she said, he knew that she wasn’t going to leave. He had already loved her through all the pain it had caused, and in spite of the distance that grew between them with every passing day.

Maybe that was why he finally mustered the courage to ask. Nothing she said felt like it could hurt him with her right here; not after everything else.

“If you love _me_ ,” he said slowly, tracing careful patterns on her thigh, “why did you marry _him_?”

Temari didn’t even flinch. “Because of you.”

There was a beat.

“Temari, that doesn’t make any sense.”

She pried their foreheads apart, and shuffled away slightly until her back pressed against the bed. In her eyes, averted from his only slightly, there sat determination, but for what Shikamaru couldn’t quite pin. She outstretched her hand and waited the mere second it took for him to grab it, merciless to her needs, before taking a deep breath and letting her eyes flutter shut.

“Remember in Kiri,” she began, “after the penultimate show?”

* * *

The room was loud, bustling with people and excitement as Kiba—in his inebriated state—serenaded the dog of the bar owner. The band and their crew, in celebration of it all coming to a close, gathered at tables and sidled between tightly-knit chairs, but a strange silence overcame Temari. Beside her, at the table she occupied, Neji was staring straight ahead at his bandmates at the bar, an uncharacteristic spirit glass in his hand as he wobbled slightly in his chair.

“Excuse me?” she asked in surprise.

He turned to her, his bright eyes glazed over, and he forced a smile. “Marry me,” he said again, as though it was the easiest thing to say in the world.

It hit her again, that unwelcome quiet.

“This is why you don’t drink.” She smiled as he shook his head solemnly. “Neji, you hate losing control, and I think this proves you’ve lost it.”

“No, Temari, I mean it. Marry me.”

The words didn’t slur nearly as much as the first time, or even the second. His persistence was so strange and so impossibly like him, that Temari found herself almost laughing as he finally turned his head to her and held out his hand expectantly.

“Please,” he gulped. 

Her heart leaped into her mouth as she heard the desperation in his voice, the subtle shake as though his world might fall apart if she turned him down. Something was wrong, she could tell. His eyes shone with a strange haze; a guilt or a sadness so complex Temari didn’t dare ask in such a rowdy place. But, all the same, Temari was ready to nudge him playfully and tell him to be quiet; tell him to ask another time when he wasn’t drinking, and then she might start to consider it. As much as she cared for him—loved him—she wasn’t blind enough to fall into this without thinking, even after the drinks she’d knocked back.

That was until she followed where Neji’s eyes had sat a moment ago, and all the lights seemed to go out.

A single spotlight shone on him, casting a shadow of his perfect side profile and ponytail across Temari until a shiver crept across the back of her neck. She watched in slow motion as he laughed, as he pressed his palm on Tenten’s back and doubled over as she spoke to him. The drummer’s eyes creased when he spoke, and she pulled him into a tight hug, nearly pushing him off the bar stool which, of course, only fuelled their childish giggles.

But then he paused and hugged her back tightly, whispering something to her as she pressed a kiss on his cheek. Temari could feel her blood boiling, her eyes growing hot. A pang of jealousy, so sudden and yet so horribly painful, shot through her chest, and her shoulders wilted slightly. When their laughter resumed, and Shikamaru helped Tenten back onto her seat, she swore she could see tears in the woman’s eyes—tears he wiped away with a thumb she remembered him tracing her curves with once upon a time.

Temari turned to her boyfriend whose eyes had clearly followed her own. They stared as though they weren’t seeing, and yet she wondered if he knew. She wanted to love this man the way he deserved to be loved, and like this she prayed that she could. She could devote herself to him, _properly_ this time, with no lingering doubts of what could’ve been. All she wanted was to live her life and love as she should, as fate had intended.

Before he could retract his hand, as she assumed he would, she grabbed it and squeezed tightly.

Fate had not intended for her to be with that man at the bar.

Neji didn’t turn when she said yes. He didn’t squeeze her hand or nod. He simply smiled slightly and said, “Thank you.” 

She didn’t dare look back at the pair by the bar when she let go of his hand, and she avoided their path as she dragged her boyfriend out of the bar.

She’d already seen all she needed to see.

* * *

Temari pursed her lips as she finished her tale to stop her bottom lip quivering. Her brow curved into a most harrowing frown, and she finally loosened her grip on Shikamaru’s hand. “I had to do it then and there, that night, before I changed my mind,” she said, desperate to fill the looming silence. “I saw you, and I realised that I’d never considered that I’d have to see you with someone else. And I just couldn’t live with that.”

The air was still, the room void of sound and movement as she waited impatiently for him to break the quiet. However, at first, all he did was give her hand a gentle squeeze, and her racing heartbeat slowed instantly. His eyes were closed, but a small smile appeared once he felt her soften at his touch, and Shikamaru let out a tired sigh.

“That’s how I’ve felt for the last year.”

It was difficult to hide the hitch in her breath, but Temari knew instantly his words weren’t loaded with blame. All they served as was comfort and understanding, and with each passing moment, she felt her muscles loosen slightly. “I know,” she said softly as she carefully got to her feet. “But I’m sorry I didn’t at the time.”

He rose and pulled her into a tight hug. It was like every word of her explanation had stitched his soul a little more tightly to her own, and Temari had never felt so protected as she did in his arms. He didn’t need to tell her it was okay for her to understand.

“I don’t want to go back tonight. I don’t want to see him—any of them.”

Shikamaru shook his head. “I don’t want that, either,” he said, “but it’s Saturday.”

She hummed into his shoulder. “Rehearsal,” she acknowledged in agreement.

“We’ve got to do it at some point, Tem,” he said begrudgingly. “Just like we’ll have to tell him, too, eventually.”

Temari didn’t give a response, but he felt her face bury deeper into his collarbone.

“Not right now,” he assured her, “I’m not ready yet either.” A selfish twang in his chest hit him as her grip tightened around him. “But, for now, we’ll have to go and pretend this didn’t happen. Just until we figure out what to do. We can do that; pretending won’t hurt anyone.”

Temari nodded meekly.

 _Not yet, anyway._

“Tenten isn’t in love with me, by the way.”

She raised her head, tilting her chin to look up at him with a frown, his sudden change of tune leaving her speechless.

“I don’t think she is at least,” he chuckled. “But who knows? You were.”

“And you’re saying this, why?”

He shrugged, tired eyes narrowing as he smirked down at her. “I don’t want you getting jealous and marrying any more men out of spite.”

With a slap on his chest and an angry pout, Temari began to smile. It stung to hear, and to have it boil down to so little made her feel childish, but that sting almost didn’t matter to her now.

This _wasn’t_ little. This was her love; her life. And her love held her close as she kissed him once more, desperate to hold on as long as he could before she had to walk out the door, pretending this whole thing was nothing more than a dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you for all the love and support on this story so far - it means the absolute world to me, and I cannot express my gratitude. I'd also like to thank loknnica endlessly for helping me with the fab lyrics in this chapter!
> 
> ALSO, I'm absolutely the moon to tell you that I'm contributing as a writer to the next volume of the ShikaTema zine 'Everything I Never Knew I Wanted' (@shikatemazine on Tumblr, and @ShikaTemaSOTW on Twitter). I could not be more excited to work on my piece and with the other contributors, and I hope that you guys will check it out and support this incredible project! :)


	9. Fast Fuse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: 'Fast Fuse' by Kasabian

Affair. It wasn’t a word he’d ever expected, or wanted, to become so acquainted with. He’d certainly hadn’t expected that, if Temari ever did come back to his apartment, he’d have to have her leave so soon, so fast. He didn’t think he would feel his stomach churn at the sound of her motorbike roaring down the next street, or the violent stab of guilt when he read the sticky note she’d stuck to his fridge.

_rehearsal at 6_

It was five hours until he would see her again. Five hours to spend planning the best way to go about the situation, to figure out how he could fix this mess— _if_ he could fix this mess.

All five, however, he spent wondering.

From the moment he heard the engine die away, Shikamaru’s brain didn’t rest. A constant rattle of thoughts soared through his system despite every attempt to quiet it. He couldn’t stop thinking about her; where she might be and what she might be doing. She’d gone home to her husband, that much he knew, but what had she said? Would she have a sudden change of heart and tell him every detail? And, if she did, would he hear the rumble of her bike growing closer any minute, or would he arrive at the studio tonight to see her still clinging to Neji’s arm?

Maybe he wouldn’t see her at all; that would be the worst luck in the world. 

He fought to ignore the fact that that evening he’d have to face Neji. Not just face him; smile at him. Shikamaru knew he’d have to stand beside him, likely with Temari on his other side, and play along with whatever lies she might’ve told. He’d have to pretend he wasn’t thinking about all the things he shouldn’t have seen, all the things he shouldn’t have done, and ignore how desperately he wanted to do them again.

It wasn’t a long enough fight for either side to truly win, but the thought retreated whenever he remembered how it felt to lie beside her, in her arms. Cherishing that moment, he decided, was more important than anything Neji might say or do.

He didn’t believe it—not even nearly—but he tried to.

Five hours seemed like an age—like too long to dwell on the millions of thoughts he couldn’t wrangle into his control—and yet it flew by in the blink of an eye. Before he knew it, Shikamaru was throwing his guitar on his back, wiping the constant stream of nervous sweat from his brow, and slamming his front door shut behind him.

Even the short walk to the studio went too fast, his amplifier even heavier than usual in his hands, and as Shikamaru scuffed his boots along the pavement around the final corner, he wanted the world to fall back into slow motion. For all his brave talk to Temari and his hopeful, illogical reasoning, the man was scared; petrified of what might tear through him the moment he saw her fingers linked with anybody’s but his.

It was inevitable, if she _hadn’t_ told him, that he would see it happen. Both outcomes were going to hurt him, he knew that, but he’d almost have preferred the truth to surface. It felt worse, and even harder to ignore, now that he knew this disastrous feeling wasn’t one-sided. One night had thrown him completely, to the point where a broken nose or losing his spot in the band somehow seemed less daunting than yet another day of wanting her from a distance.

Yet despite that feeling, when he heard the growl of an engine, his wanting eyes shot up—wide and bright like a deer in headlights—and nothing could describe his relief upon realising it was Tenten’s bike crawling up outside the studio. He had to smile as she hopped off, raising a tired hand to her as she tore the helmet from her head. She returned the gesture cheerfully, flashing him a bright smile, and threw her cymbals over her back as he drew up beside her.

He chuckled to himself as he registered the cheeky glint in her eye. _Temari, love,_ he thought, _you’re such an idiot_.

“Hey. Are you doing okay?” asked Tenten, hint of worry lacing her tone. “You look a little shaken up.”

Shikamaru shrugged, biting his lip to fight back a laugh at the memory of Temari’s misunderstanding. “Just tired,” he lied.

“Nothing new there, then,” she giggled with a roll of her eyes, and flicked open her top box to pull out a pouch containing her sticks. She turned to the side as she locked it and her brow furrowed, prompting Shikamaru’s gaze to shift again.

Beside the door he could see Kankuro flush against the bricks, his hood up and arms tight against his chest as he spoke. Across from him, his guitar held carefully in front of him, Neji nodded along as he listened intently, mouth moving every once in a while.

A lump grew in Shikamaru’s throat, choking him as he tried to swallow.

_Where is she?_

He wanted to speak, to _ask_ , so desperately. He wanted to ensure that, whatever Kankuro was frowning and whispering so viciously about, wasn’t in any way related to him—to _them_. When Neji’s head turned toward him and he smiled, only the faintest speck of relief helped him force a smile back.

He wasn’t angry—that meant he didn’t know—but _she_ still wasn’t there.

 _Why_ wasn’t she there?

As he started forward, his knees almost buckling with every step, he barely noticed Tenten fly past him, landing in front of the two men before he could open his mouth. He came up beside the drummer, slotting himself in the small circle between her and Kankuro, and chewed a little too hard on his lip.

“It’s only two minutes until we’re meant to start,” she acknowledged, eyes darting between the two men, and settling firmly on Kankuro. “Why exactly aren’t we inside yet?”

The keyboardist huffed as he knocked his head against the wall. “Someone clearly told those pricks where we rehearse, _and_ what time, and so they booked the slot before us.”

He kicked at the backpack by his feet, and caught Shikamaru’s eye with a nervous shudder. When his gaze flew to the floor after just a moment, a sickening feeling struck the bassist. But, after the position he’d left him in, Shikamaru couldn’t blame his friend for feeling awkward, or for avoiding his eye so intensely.

He couldn’t help but think that this was all his fault, choked up at the thought of losing one of his closest friends with nobody to blame but himself. Only once Kankuro looked back up and gave him a weak smile did Shikamaru remember the soft tone of his voice last night, or the kind help he’d given them both when he’d had no reason. Focusing on that, hoping for normality, he shot back an equally pathetic, but apologetic smile.

“It’s _them_ , Shikamaru,” he gulped. “What if they know about what we did with them?”

The sickness vanished. _The drugs_. Kankuro’s fidgeting eyes now told Shikamaru, at least in this moment, that he wasn’t angry at anyone. He was nervous; nervous of who stood behind that door, and what they wanted from him. It couldn’t have been easy knowing that, any moment now, a group of people so desperate to destroy him were bound to appear.

“They’re definitely still in there?” Shikamaru asked.

“They are,” Kankuro repeated.

“Where’s Kiba?”

“He’s not in there, if that’s what you mean.” The keyboardist squeezed his eyes shut tight as he sighed and tapped on the door. “Not even here yet, thankfully.”

Tenten huffed. “Well, they better be gone before he turns up,” she groaned. “We all know Kiba won’t handle this well.”

“I won’t handle _what_ well? What’s the problem?”

Heads turned to see the man frowning as he strolled towards them, hand tightly wrapped in his girlfriend’s as they moved closer. Ino smiled brightly at them all, eyes twinkling beneath the warm light of streetlamps. Amidst all the confusion, and the anxiety drifting through the air, Shikamaru couldn’t help returning the smile of his old friend.

“There’s no problem, Kiba,” said Neji sternly. “We’re just waiting for the studio to be free.”

Kiba wrinkled his nose up as he turned towards the door. “But our session starts in less than a minute. Whoever it is should have left already.”

He stepped closer and readied himself to knock, but was stopped by Ino grabbing his arm. The model bit her lip as she dragged him back closer to her, and raised her eyebrows at him expectantly. “Stop being impatient,” Shikamaru heard her whisper. “For all we know they’re just some kids who don’t—”

“No, it’s The Akatsuki.” Eyes shifted towards Neji who shook his head helplessly. “We don’t know why, but there’s no point arguing with them. They’re only trying to aggravate us.”

“Well, it’s working,” snarled Kiba as he tightened his grip around his girlfriend’s waist.

“Don’t let it.”

“That’s easy for you to say—nothing gets under _your_ skin!”

Shikamaru felt himself shiver, and with a subtle side-eye from Kankuro he was sure he could feel bile burning in the back of his throat. He took a deep and shaky breath as the guitarist shook his head again, eyes drifting to the floor in hopelessness.

While clearly trying to find words that his friend might listen to, Neji still looked so serene and easy, as though what Kiba said had been true, and for a moment Shikamaru believed it. After all, he could barely remember a time where the man had lost his temper past throwing his water bottle a little harder down on the floor than usual. He’d never seen him cry, never heard his voice raise louder than when he sang. The idea it would be his fault that that might change was almost impossible to process in such a short space of time.

Their lies, their silence, hadn’t hurt him yet, but that didn’t mean it never would.

With a soft smile, Ino traced patterns across the back of Kiba’s leather jacket, raising her eyebrows when he finally looked back into her eyes. Shikamaru caught sight of the way she looked at him, and the way his brow softened all so slightly as she squeezed his hand, and suddenly felt his terrible thoughts subside with his distracted mind.

Despite all the frowns, all the subtle grumbles and the frustration in the air, there was a stillness to the moment between the two of them. For a split second there was quiet, and Kiba’s eyes shot to the ground as he chewed on his bottom lip. Ino didn’t need to say a word, only look at him and run her fingers across his skin, and he already knew what she was saying.

 _It’s not worth it._

And he could tell by the way Kiba’s lips almost tugged up into a smile that he knew that she was right.

Having known Ino as long as he had, years before she’d become the rising star she was nowadays, he’d grown to know that look she gave people. Somehow, when her eyes caught just about anyone, it was like she pulled you together and read your mind all at once. But there was something different about the way she looked at Kiba, and it was impossibly beautiful to see a look like that exchanged; to see two people understand one another so easily that they barely needed to smile as proof.

Feeling a certain sense of warmth in the atmosphere the moment their eyes locked, Shikamaru couldn’t help but remember the warmth that had swelled in his stomach that morning. How he wished it came to him now, whilst he was awash with nagging doubts and worries, to wipe them away with a silence like this. He longed to see her wrapped up in his sheets once more, to feel her eyes trained on him just because they could. He wanted to feel like the two before him—so connected that silence made sense.

For a moment he let his gaze stray to the end of the road, and squinted behind Tenten’s motorbike in the hope that her silhouette might appear.

But there was nothing but a hazy mist rolling across the pavement, painfully quiet until a creak shot through his ears, an alarm to force the whole band’s attention to shift.

He found it hard to avoid their eyes as each figure paraded out of the studio door. For a moment he didn’t even register the snarky voices and snarling lips, only the way their presence clearly disturbed the evening air. The Akatsuki brought with them a humid cloud of sweat, choking the cold immediately with their unnerving eyes. Even through obnoxious sunglasses, he could feel the unwanted stare of their bassist, Itachi Uchiha, trained on him like a hawk. Shikamaru fought back the urge to snarl as eyes drifted left to right, passing over purple hair and shark teeth as if it didnt boil the blood of everyone who stood beside him. He heard Tenten’s boots patted across the concrete as she stepped closer to the pack, anticipating the hum of complaints as the final member stepped through the archway.

Shikamaru felt his nostrils flare as his eyes settled on the greaseball lingering outside the door. With a can of beer tight in his grip, Hidan ran a hand through his slicked back hair, his tongue running painfully slowly across his bottom lip. Heat spilling under the collar of his jacket, Shikamaru’s jaw clenched.

“Well, well,” said the man before them, a revolting smirk playing on his lips, “would you look at what the cat dragged in.”

Leather puckered as Ino’s grip on Kiba’s arm grew tighter and a nervousness flew across the band. “Hidan,” he acknowledged through gritted teeth. “It’s funny—I was about to say the same.”

Hidan’s eyebrows raised as he knocked back the remnants of his beer, tossing the can to the side with a satisfied grin. “What’s wrong with you, Inuzuka?” He paused and took a loud step forward. “Too nervous to get all up in my face, or have you finally grown up?”

From the way his fists clenched, Shikamaru could already see how ready Kiba was to pounce. Even with Ino holding him back, the man was almost unstoppable, riled up at the mere thought of someone interfering with his friends—with his people. It was no surprise that his impatient snarl and quickening breaths made Hidan erupt with a most vile laugh, and Ino gripped the fabric tighter as she shot Shikamaru a desperate look.

“Oh, I get it. I’ve seen _this chick_ on your arm before,” he snarked, nodding towards Ino. “Don’t tell me that the infamous ladies man of Cloud Nine is settling down, and with some model of all people.” He tutted and pressed his tongue between his teeth as he hissed. “But I suppose your crown has fallen, eh, Inuzuka?”

Kiba’s upper lip was trembling, the tips of his ears growing redder with each passing moment. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I hear your bassist has taken your title somewhat. Can’t say I expected it from the lanky fuck,” he chuckled as his eyes drifted toward Shikamaru who slid his bass off of his back to the floor. “But Azumi’s always a reliable source.”

Shikamaru felt his stomach churn. “Azumi?”

“Don’t play dumb, Nara—the two of you were more than just acquainted.”

He gulped.

“It’s funny,” Hidan scoffed, “I thought you might’ve noticed how convenient it was that she turned up just as you started whoring yourself out to anyone you laid eyes on, but clearly you’re as blind as she said you were.”

A jolt of something he couldn’t quite pin shot through his chest. It wasn’t pain, not even betrayal—no, it wasn’t nearly as intense as that. All he could seem to feel was stupid; stupid for ignoring the warning signs he knew he’d seen, and stupid for letting his guard down, naively assuming fate might be on his side. 

The silver-haired man shrugged. “So much for being the smart one, right?”

Shikamaru was really starting to hate that phrase. He had never been so blind and idiotic in his life and now here it was, coming back to bite him.

“Oi,” interrupted Ino as Kiba pulled loose from his girlfriend's grip, “your problem isn’t with him.”

“Who said?”

“ _I_ said.”

“How cute. A couple of washed up little boys, helpless without their bimbo to stand up for them.” Hidan shook his head, a patronising tone lacing his voice. “Tell me, little girl, which one fucks you better?”

Both Kiba and Shikamaru’s hands crumpled into tight fists as Ino laughed in disbelief. “Fuck you,” he heard her spit.

“Surely it’s a fair question,” he smirked. “After all, now _Nara’s_ the ladies man, I’m sure a girl like you couldn’t resist.”

“A girl like me?”

“All tits, no brains.”

They barely saw Kiba move as he flew towards him, lifting his fist menacingly in preparation to hit, but Hidan moved faster. Like a shadow he batted away Kiba’s hand, too quick for the other man to land more than a scratch on his pasty forearm before pushing him. But falling a couple of steps back didn’t deter Kiba from launching himself again, this time, both hands at the ready. Each man landed a swarm of punches—Kiba crashing into the man's gut and receiving a smack on his cheekbone in return—but as they readied themselves to continue, desperate to draw blood, Ino stormed forward.

“Stop!” she screamed as she pressed her hands on both their chests, desperate to push the two apart, but in mere seconds she was thrown back by the taller man. Unlike Kiba, she went flying, tripping over her heels in a frenzied panic until she landed in Shikamaru’s arms. Ino took rapid breaths, and he felt his muscles tighten as he saw Hidan grab Kiba’s wrist and twist it until he screamed.

Shikamaru positioned his friend beside Tenten in an instant, giving her hand an encouraging squeeze before surging towards the brawling men.

As he approached the scene played out in front of him in slow motion, giving him enough time to calculate each blow his boiling blood left him desperate to deliver. With a sharp shout and a grin Kiba kicked Hidan’s shin at full pelt and squirmed free, butting his head and stumbling slightly from the impact before he smacked the man dead in the chest. He watched Kiba take an unexpected knee to the stomach, doubling him over, and Hidan’s fist, once again, collided with his face.

Kiba fell to the floor, growling proudly as he anticipated his friend’s move, and with their enemy distracted, a gross chuckle lingering on his tongue, Shikamaru launched his knuckles into the man’s nose. He’d never been one for fighting, but he had to admit that when his fist collided with a crack—satisfying and exhilarating beyond belief—he had a small smile on his lips, proud that he’d avenged his friend spectacularly. Or, at least, he smiled until Hidan found his footing and raised head.

The man looked as if he didn’t notice the blood, which made it all the more disturbing when he ran his tongue across his top lip with a smirk. The sea of red coating his tongue seeped between his teeth as he shook his head and, with a triumphant tut, Hidan began to laugh.

Shikamaru wasn’t fast enough to stop him pinning him against the wall. Through his rage he barely felt the punches hit his jaw, his cheek, his collarbone; he barely heard the shouts and the grumbles from the onlookers. He could see each hit coming, but his body stopped responding, powerless to the monster that had overwhelmed him.

But then his eyes caught sight of the people over the man’s shoulder, clambering. Tenten screamed profanities at the laughing monsters at the end of the road. He saw the horrified look in Ino’s eyes as she ran to her partner and cradled him in her arms, the frowns on every face as Neji hurried in slow motion towards Shikamaru, and he felt that little bit bolder—stronger.

However, it was the sight of Kankuro’s rage as he nervously copied their drummer that gave him the strength to push Hidan back. In a sequence of moves he was sure he’d never be able to replicate, Shikamaru hit and kicked until Hidan lay defenceless on the damp concrete. Blood seeped into the hem of his tank, and drew terrible low-lights in his hair, but it was the way he no longer went to take the blood which made Shikamaru feel uneasy.

Hidan didn't dare smile as the bassist pressed his boot against his stomach, looking down on him like a predator to prey. Shikamaru knew he held the power as he gently pressed his heel just below the man’s ribs and, for a moment, he retracted his foot, readying himself to kick and hear the whispers and whines this man deserved to make.

Instead he felt a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back and grabbing him by the chin. His mind raced, flashing back to the time he’d last felt such a grip on his face and the slender fingers which had held him so tightly. Now that moment made sense somehow, and he wished he could travel back in time to savour her touch, fight through the pain just to look into her eyes once more. But, when he blinked himself back to reality, and Hidan had scrambled up and ran away with the rest of The Akatsuki, he didn’t see that same teal colour staring back at him.

“Shikamaru, _stop_.”

Neji frowned at him, pressing his thumb hard against his jawbone. Through shallow breaths he could barely say a word, his vision shaky as he swore over Neji’s shoulder she came into view. Deliriously he shook his head, and rubbed his eyes. 

“That’s not you,” he said firmly. “You’re not like him, you’re a good man. You don’t fight and you definitely don’t play God.”

His chest felt as though it was ready to cave in and the care shining from his friends bright eyes nearly made him sick. “A good man,” Shikamaru repeated, his voice cracking. What a lie that was. With each passing second, the guilt he’d been fighting to keep down was bubbling up—boiling over and ready to spill right from his lips.

_I slept with this man's wife._

Why, of all people, did it have to be Neji? Why couldn’t it be someone he didn’t know, or someone he didn’t care for? Maybe even if it was Kiba, he could handle it, and wait silently for the storm he’d kick up to pass by. But with Neji he felt trapped in the eye; wind howling and rain pouring around him, but never touching him. Instead there was a perfect still, a silence brought about by the calm of this brilliant man—a friend he’d known for years.

This man, his painfully good _friend_ , stood clueless as he tried to calm him down, unaware of why Shikamaru’s chest didn’t cease its rise and fall as he’d expected. Every breath felt like his last, somehow incomparable to the searing pain in his jaw. He didn’t notice the blood dripping from his lip, or the swelling that made breath feel like a marathon. All he could see was two grey eyes, unable to acknowledge what they needed to see—so full and yet so empty of what mattered.

Shikamaru wanted to tell him that he didn’t deserve his kindness. When Neji loosened his grip and retracted his hand, he almost begged to put it back, and torture him with the hurt he deserved.

His eyes flickered to Kiba and Ino, sat against the wall as she scolded the seething man with a grateful smile in her eyes. He longed to feel arms around him as he watched them hold each other, watched her wipe the sweat from his brow and the red stripe from his chin. Even Tenten shook Kankuro’s shoulders as he stared blankly towards the end of the street, and Shikamaru tried to follow his fingertip when he pointed. Neji’s eyes, however, were a blinding spotlight, clouding his vision into a sad swarm of indistinguishable colour.

But then the man stepped back slightly, and he finally focused, the blurs of sight and sound zoning in on the figure striding towards him. 

“What the fuck happened?” Temari growled as she looked around. “I leave you alone for ten minutes and—”

She stopped as she caught sight of Shikamaru, battered and broken behind the eyes as he locked onto her over Neji’s shoulder. For a moment, she wondered if he had said something—told her husband the truth—but as Neji turned and gave her an apologetic smile, Temari knew that couldn’t be true.

Her lips parted in disbelief as she closed the gap between herself and the two men, shaking her head as her eyes darted between them both. She wanted nothing more than to take Shikamaru in her arms and hug him until he said he was okay, but instead she found her hand trapped in Neji’s before she could lift her arms.

The bassist didn’t need to say anything. His doe-eyes held so many different shades of pain she could barely even look at them, but still Temari couldn’t tear herself away. She tried to listen as Neji calmly explained the situation—why there was blood and why it didn’t matter—but her mind computed only a single thought, too focused on Shikamaru to even nod along and pretend.

While her husband was there, looming with smiles and innocently grabbing at hands, a metre between them would always feel like miles.


	10. Unfaithful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: 'Unfaithful' by Blossoms (or Rihanna)

It took a few days following the incident outside the studio for Shikamaru to dare reach out to her again, but Temari had picked up the phone with as much excitement as if it had been years, wasting no time in slipping out the door and dashing to meet him. From the moment they fell into each other’s arms, hidden by the shadows of another alleyway, neither dared let go. Their lips locked together without a single word, oblivious to the world around them as hands roamed every curve, brushed carefully across each bruise.

When they finally looked to one another, bound together by limbs and love, neither of them had the nerve to say what needed to be said or do what they knew was right. Temari merely ran her thumb across the cut on his lip with a sombre smile and shook her head. “I’m still not ready,” she said, sending an embarrassingly selfish shot of relief through Shikamaru’s body. “Not even slightly.”

His grip tightened as he pulled her closer. “Neither am I.”

They weren’t ready the next day, either. In fact, they realised quite quickly that they were never going to be. Neither wanted to be; to abandon this secret escape they’d built for themselves.

For the next few weeks, every possible private moment they could scrounge was a moment reserved. Even if it was just seconds where they allowed themselves to feel what they wanted, what they needed, they ran with it, somehow never growing tired.

Shikamaru learned not to wear his cologne when meeting her and Temari switched her lipstick shade so that purple smears were a worry of the past. Each time they snatched a selfish moment together they never forgot the consequences, but Shikamaru taught himself to ignore the sting of her ring against his cheek. When she couldn’t take it off, he tried his best to pretend _he’d_ put it there, and fought with the sickness in his gut the next time grey eyes fell on his neck.

But it never grew easier to watch him kiss her hello or goodbye, or see her peer over Neji’s shoulder across the room. It still made his head implode and his heart ache when she walked out the door, hand in hand with this man that wasn’t him, but he knew deep down that the pain would disappear the next time she fell into his arms.

For Temari, however, the shutting of a door was only the beginning. She’d travel home to him, or with him, wearing an invisible balaclava of kisses and playing a stranger to herself. During the day she’d busy herself extensively, at night she’d make excuses he dared not question, all the while wondering when her moment to run might appear.

She thought about it once or twice, but then she’d always see him smile—a friend she’d known for years staring at her with the same compassion he always had—and she was stopped dead. At night, when he held her and she felt the tickle of hair against her neck, she imagined turning to see deep brown eyes instead of grey. But, as easy as pretending was slowly becoming, the shame seared through her veins with every touch; an electric shock building, begging to break her down.

It had been all too easy to lie, far easier than lying to her husband should have been, about going to stay with her youngest brother for a fortnight, out of town. Her husband's trust was unwavering, and left her guilt-ridden when, instead of a filthy rich businessman’s penthouse, she arrived at the same door she’d visited too many times this month.

Shikamaru had ushered her in and listened to her woes, learned of her life and her secrets in one night of endless talking. After every word, he found himself drawn in closer in spirit, a puppet to her every want and need. He spilled his guts for her to make sense of and she did it with such ease it was almost terrifying. But it left him with the overwhelming sense that, despite gaining all they’d ever wanted, they’d ultimately lost.

Both too terrified to confront the truth—too selfish on top of that—they lived forever in limbo. A perfect limbo of comfort and smiles, sex and laughter, too beautiful to ever comprehend leaving.

So they stayed put, clinging to a happiness too real to let go.

But, as Shikamaru felt her pepper his bare body with the most brilliant flutter of kisses, looking up at her for what somehow still felt like the first time, he was all too aware of how quickly their two weeks were flying by. It was drawing to a close all too quickly, and an insatiable need for more rocketed through him. He flipped her when she raised her head, pressing her onto her back, wanting more desperately than ever to claim her as his own.

Temari, of course, had no complaints, letting him run the most thrilling patterns across her thighs until she couldn’t stop pulling him closer. She wanted her life to run in a loop of moments with Shikamaru. Moments like this of pure and divine pleasure, and those of soft understanding and kindness, running in tandem forever. Two days prior, when she’d found herself complaining, she realised how much she loved the way he quipped back, yet followed her command as though it were gospel. He fit into a hole in her life she’d tried so hard to squeeze Neji into without trying, just as she fit so perfectly into his.

In every sense, they went together, and as he ignited that same blissful sensation in her stomach once more, Temari grinned ear to ear.

Neither of them heard the phone ring through the muffled haze of moans. It was the banging on the door that tore Shikamaru from her arms, a nervous mess of sweat and sheets. Temari stared at him with narrow eyes as he retracted his hand from her bare chest. “Leave it,” she drawled. “You’re busy. Whoever it is can come back later.”

Biting down on his lip, Shikamaru yearned to dive back in, a slave to her demands when she wore that devilish smile, but as he leaned down, a shout of his name echoed through the halls and the two of them snapped up.

That voice belonged to the last man he wanted to see right now.

“Neji,” he cursed as he leaped off the bed, Temari following in swift pursuit. Her eyes grew wide and wild as she rummaged through the mess of clothes on the floor to throw him something and, when he caught her eye, he saw frantic breaths tearing through her body. “Get back under the covers. _Hide_.”

She whined as she grabbed helplessly at the sheets and ducked away from the window. “Shikamaru, my stuff is everywhere, I can’t just—”

“I said _hide_ , Temari.” He pulled the clothes she had given him on with a grunt and shot her an apologetic look. “I’ll handle it.”

Before she could argue he fled the room, the door slamming behind him, and began gathering every item he knew belonged to her. Shikamaru fought to squeeze every piece of her into the corner as though his life depended on it. When the door rattled again he apprehensively called, “Coming!”

Throwing a blanket atop the pile for good measure, he bit down hard on his lip. He heard a rustle through the walls as Temari paced in anticipation, and took a deep breath. Calloused fingertips tapped the wall and instantly the noise ceased. Shikamaru felt his heartbeat slow by the faintest margin, and let out a grateful sigh.

He wondered how, on the other side, she had hidden herself away— _if_ she had hidden herself away. All he could imagine was her skin sliding effortlessly under the sheets, the fearful frenzy not enough to halt the effortless grace she always moved with.

But it crossed his mind that maybe she wouldn’t hide at all. Maybe, in true Temari fashion, she’d take him by surprise and storm through the door as though that terrified look had never shot through her eyes. Maybe she’d reach for his hand and drag him to the door, standing together as they forced the truth upon Neji.

However there was no twist of the doorknob, no piercing creak of hinges to comfort him. As he left the living room and started towards the door, he flashed a quick glance back to the bedroom. Through no fault but his own, he was left alone to decipher the situation that waited beyond the door. Intelligence was no saviour from a moment burdened with such emotion, and Shikamaru knew he’d be unable to admit the truth even if he had to.

 _Get a grip_ , he cursed silently, finally closing the distance between him and the front door. _You’re the one who told her to hide._

He opened it a mere crack, peering through with tired eyes as they adjusted to the brilliant light of the day, and his facade fell apart before he’d even found time to it. “N-Neji,” stuttered Shikamaru, rubbing his neck awkwardly, “this is a surprise.”

Neji stood before him, eyebrows raised in confusion, his face a torturous frame for such a calm expression. “It is? I called ahead.”

“You did?”

He nodded. “An hour or so ago. I wanted to take you up on your offer from last week.”

The bassist frowned, gulping as his posture fell heavy.

“Shikamaru, you offered me a spare set of strings when you realised they weren’t bass,” Neji said, his words loaded with a hint of impatience too obvious for Shikamaru’s stomach to settle. “You forgot, didn’t you?”

Unconvincingly, he shook his head, prompting Neji to sigh as he nudged the door open slightly. His wrist buckling at the pressure, Shikamaru let it drift open slowly, and took a shaky step back as his friend slid through the gap into the hall. The way he looked around, examining every inch of the apartment, hardly filled Shikamaru with hope as he backed away.

“Did you just wake up?”

Nervously, Shikamaru’s eyes wandered to the clock on his microwave. _Two-eighteen_. “Yes,” he replied, satisfied enough with the way Neji chuckled in response. “You know how it is when you have nowhere to be.”

The concerned hum he received in response left him ready to drop dead.

He watched closely as Neji strode through into the living room. Every turn of his head, every slight change in the direction in his eyes sent shivers down Shikamaru’s spine. He felt himself gulp a little too loudly, and stammer for something— _anything_ to say when his friend drew too close to the blanket in the corner. “So, how’re you?” he spat out before thinking, frantically scanning the eyes that raised to look at him in surprise. “How’s Temari?”

Of all the questions, and all the topics, it was surely the worst—the hardest. And yet, somehow, it felt the safest option of all. If he asked, and pretended he didn’t know all that separated this man from his wife was a paper-thin wall, maybe Neji might ignore the familiar smells filtering through the hair.

The man adjusted the fabric across his forehead and frowned as he drew up beside the bass propped against the couch. He gently ran his fingertips over the top string with a sigh. “I’m not entirely sure,” he said. “She’s still visiting Gaara, and I haven’t heard much from her. Though I suppose that’s to be expected; she’s always busy, after all.”

Shikamaru simply nodded, the man’s trust heartbreakingly strong. “Always.” 

Carefully, Neji traced the neck of the guitar with a touch so beautifully gentle he wished he could mimic him. In mind and in body, Shikamaru longed to be as controlled as the man before him. He was sure he had been that way once, but such an existence seemed a thing of the past now and he longed for a firm grip on just about anything. He longed for normality; a normal life with her. As much as he’d been pretending, it was a thing only Neji could really have, and that knowledge left a sour taste in his mouth.

When a knock came through the wall, and a shot of terror ripped through his chest, he was surprised the man didn’t look up. Instead he simply pursed his lips.

“Shikamaru, can I ask you a question?”

His eyes trained on Neji as he slid his palm below the body of the bass and lifted it carefully. “Yes,” he gulped hesitantly.

“Do you believe we follow a set path?” he asked softly.

Frowning, Shikamaru shoved his restless fingertips into his pocket. “How so?”

“I was always taught as a child to find my thing, my destiny, and to follow it. I found music, I found Temari; I found all I could ever need with ease.” Neji let his eyes flutter shut. “So, I’ve done what I was told, and let my whole life fall into place around me as though I don’t control it, and it’s a good life,” he sighed. “I’m a very lucky man, and I love her very much.”

It hurt too much, gutted him too deep, to agree, but Shikamaru had to hum along all the same.

His friend looked up, a gentle smile on his lips, and narrowed his eyes slightly. “The strange thing is,” he said, “I don’t remember _deciding_ that I wanted any of this, and yet I have it all.”

Shikamaru bit down on his lip, a hopeless desperation lingering in his eyes. “You don’t want it?” 

“No, I do—of course I do,” he explained, “but I feel as though there was a fork in my path, and for some reason I shut my eyes the moment I reached it.” The look in his eyes made the silence all the more uncomfortable. “Do you ever feel like that? Frustrated that it’s all already been decided for you, even though you know that it’s great—that it’s for the best?”

As he spoke, words of love and luck slipping thoughtlessly from his tongue, Shikamaru couldn’t help feeling as though he was gloating that the world had handed him the ultimate prize without trying.

Of course he knew. Every mention of fate or destiny stung Shikamaru in his chest, and he lived in fear of an ache he knew he’d never be rid of. Until a month ago the world had played out around him, himself a pawn in everybody else’s games and powerless to take action for himself. Even now that Temari had fallen right into the centre of his path, the possibility of writing a future intertwined with fate was daunting at best.

Despite the fact this man ran his fingers across his guitar and somehow didn’t notice the handwriting of his wife on the sticky note adorning its body, Shikamaru overflowed with guilt. As much as fate terrified him, or Neji’s words sat strangely in his stomach, this man was his friend. He’d been his friend long before he’d known the woman behind that wall, and just as much as wanted to protect her, he wanted to prevent his heartbreak.

He felt himself a link in a slowly unwinding chain, rusting at the edges as he was tugged at either side. Now, more than ever, he needed to stand strong, play his part and save these two from something neither; something neither deserved. With every rustle through the wall, and every pitiful smile beaming up over from the couch, he felt himself wearing away, and yet it barely mattered.

This was bigger than his fears and his guilt. No matter how violently his nerves crept into his throat, he couldn’t give away anything—not a slither of negative emotion just in case. For Temari’s sake, and for his friend’s.

That’s why all Shikamaru could do as he found himself choked up was hum gently in agreement. Having resigned himself to the feeling of eyes on his neck and the idea it might be followed, any second, by a punch, he dared not close his eyes as he forced a fearful smile. He waited for it, ready to take it.

But instead there was a silence, a moment of calm as Neji’s final note drifted through the air and fizzled out into nothing.

“I didn’t mean to intrude on you, Shikamaru,” his friend sighed, chuckling as though he was embarrassed. “I’m sorry. Just tell me where you keep your spares and I’ll get out of your hair.”

Neji’s soft voice shot through him like a current, tensing his shoulders and stopping him in his tracks as he, without thinking and too desperate to sound normal, answered.

“The bedroom,” said Shikamaru plainly, only the faintest tremor as the word snapped off.

Panic stormed him as he saw Neji prop the bass back against the couch and begin walking past him with a gentle smile. All he wanted was for the man to leave, a desire so overwhelming he’d let his tongue slip too quickly for his own good. As much as he longed for this to be over, he couldn’t do this to Temari. She wasn’t ready to be thrown in at the deep end; she didn’t deserve it.

Shikamaru jolted forward with an awkward step and held out his arm to block his friend’s path. “Wait. I’ll get them.”

“It’s fine, I can—”

“Let me go, Neji,” he snapped, jumping back toward the bedroom door. “Please.”

Neji frowned but stopped, nodding slowly.

“Thank you,” said Shikamaru as his palm wrapped around the handle. “It’s a mess, man. You’ll never find anything in there.”

 _Nothing I want_ you _to find._

He pushed it open to see the sheets strewn across the floor, with no immediate view of the woman he knew to be hiding. “I’ll be right back,” he mumbled, raising a hand as he pulled the door shut behind him with a satisfying click.

Nervously he made his way into the centre of the room, sifting through drawers for the key to Neji leaving until he heard a gentle thud sound from his wardrobe. The pit of his stomach felt hollow as he pried it open to reveal Temari, her upper body cloaked in his shirt and contorted around the many empty hangers and bags littering the closet.

Shikamaru’s eyes narrowed as he saw her shoot him an apologetic smile, and motioned for her to move slightly. He slid his hand past her behind to grab one of the bags, grumbling to himself as it got caught on something. With a more forceful tug, he finally tore the bag free, forcing the woman before him to reposition herself.

Temari’s expression scrunched up in discomfort as she rattled around the hangers, prompting a few to fall. The noise echoed, a rumble too loud for Shikamaru not to grab her and force her to keep still.

“Are you alright in there, Shikamaru?”

“Fine—I just, um, dropped something!” he called back, shaking his head at her slightly. _He’ll hear you_ , he mouthed. _Stop moving_.

Temari’s eyes glazed over as she crossed her arms tightly over her chest, too nervous to wriggle and get comfy amongst the clutter. 

“Shikamaru?”

Neji’s voice was beginning to drill into his soul, even more so now he felt the eyes of his wife trained on him. He nearly turned and asked her to tie together the sheets and climb out of the window—put him out of his misery—but he could barely even look her way with his words echoing in his ears. Worried, he hummed loudly in response. 

“Have you ever taught anyone bass?”

He looked up. The image of the neon sticky note currently attached to his bass flew across his vision as he caught her eye, and he could see the fear flying through her eyes as she saw the same. Temari shook her head desperately, forcing Shikamaru to choke out an unconvincing, “No.”

The blonde wriggled out of the closet slightly, rattling the hangers as she mouthed a petrified, _What if he saw it?_

“Would you teach someone?” asked Neji through the door. It was calm, unprovoked and accompanied by the soft padding of shoes on the floorboards, and Shikamaru went back to rooting around the bag when he saw Temari sigh with relief.

“Maybe,” he drawled. “Why do you ask?”

“Temari asked me to teach her a few months back,” Neji explained, “but I told her she’d be better off asking you.” There was a beat as Shikamaru paused and lifted his eyes. He watched her breathing begin to quicken. “I don’t suppose she ever did ask you about it?”

“No,” he lied, staring the woman dead in the eye as she nervously chewed on her lip. “She didn’t.”

Although her nature left it unlikely to be true, Temari seemed ready to cry. The way her nose wrinkled and her brow furrowed as she blinked furiously were impossible to watch, and as red creeped into the corners of her eyes, he couldn’t help himself. Shikamaru reached out his hand, the other still raking through the contents of the backpack on his bed, searching for their ticket out of this mess.

She took it instantly, and for a moment he truly felt himself her protector. Both of them were safe from the truth whilst he still got to hold her, and he was almost content with the uneasy tension so long as it all stayed like this, forever unchanging.

But then Neji’s voice flew through the air.

“It’s a shame. I think she’d be good if you did teach her.”

“Yeah?”

Temari’s grip tightened as she saw his jaw clench.

“Definitely,” chuckled Neji. “She’s good with her hands—I can tell you that for certain.”

His eyes drifted to the bed—to creases in the pillows, and handprints painted by sweat on the walls—and a chill swept over his body. He remembered the feeling of her nails in his back, the sound of her whimpers like currents through his body, and suddenly the idea of walking outside to see Neji was enough to make a cold sweat creep over him.

The uncomfortable laugh he forced out unnerved Temari and his fingers squeezed her hand a little too tightly. His eyes shot up instantly, glazed over with an insatiable terror, and as she hissed a curse at the painful pressure on her hand he dropped it all too quickly.

As he let go, her kind eyes bloodshot and terrified, he felt as though his whole world had fallen away. An emptiness filled him, a black shadow cast over his every thought. The whimsical facade had been shattered and replaced by reality. A reality where he was not the only one to touch her body; a world where, despite all his efforts, she _could_ still feel pain.

When his wandering fingers made contact with the strings at last, Shikamaru felt no sense of relief or accomplishment. After what he’d just heard, he realised finding them was just the first step of the challenge. It would be nothing compared to what would follow.

He backed away fast, leaving her hand extended as she cowered in the shadows, and gulped. He prayed she could see the apology in his eyes; that it was enough to mask the unrelenting emotions that stormed his head. Temari retreated back into the wardrobe with narrow eyes, a veil of confusion settling over them both, and for the first time in over a month, Shikamaru found himself unable to look at her.

“Found them,” he said through gritted teeth.

She could see the fight behind his eyes as he reached for the handle, avoiding her desperate attempts to grab his attention. For so long it had been easy, and yet with the looming presence behind the door, everything seemed to shift. It was clear what this was doing to him, how he was crumbling under the pressure despite the act he played so brilliantly. Temari wished she could make it all okay, but instead she took another step back.

Shikamaru couldn’t wait for the wardrobe to close before turning the handle, too desperate to shoot his friend a fake smile and guide him out. 

His friend thanked him as he directed him to the front door, but paused as it swung open. Shikamaru followed his eyes to the door, ajar at the end of the hallway. “What’s wrong?” His voice broke, painfully aware of his mistake. 

Neji frowned as he turned and took the final step out into the corridor. “Shikamaru, was there a woman in there? In your bedroom?”

Shikamaru froze, eyes darting to the floor. At first he didn’t know where to look, but settled on Neji’s shoes—shined to perfection. He could almost see, in the reflection, the cowardly look haunting his eyes. He could see the way his brow furrowed unconvincingly as he shook his head, and could only imagine what nightmare Neji saw flying across his sorry expression.

“Was it Tenten?”

Face contorted into a disbelieving frown, Shikamaru’s fingers fell from the handle. “There’s nobody here at all, let alone her,” he scoffed, releasing a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. “Anyway, why on earth would it be _Tenten_?”

Neji crossed his arms over his chest and shrugged. “I don't know, but your whole apartment smells eerily familiar,” he mumbled. “Similar to her perfume.” Shikamaru’s eyebrows raised, watching as Neji raised the strings with gratitude and backed further into the corridor. “I’d better be on my way,” he said with a smile. “Thank you again.”

He forced another smile, the corner of his mouth quivering. “No problem,” he lied.


	11. My Mistakes Were Made For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: 'My Mistakes Were Made For You' by The Last Shadow Puppets

Shikamaru could still feel Neji’s eyes boring into his skull once he’d shut the door. As he listened for Neji’s footsteps fading into nothing, he tried to avert his focus to the soft rustle of the leaves outside. The wind drifting through them was a sound so serene, contrasting the way his thoughts darted around at a million miles an hour. For every question the gentle sound provided a soothing reply, but that calm somehow only encouraged his mind to keep swirling.

Tightening his grip on the doorknob, he pulled it toward him slightly and pressed his forehead against the wood. The relief of finally being alone hit him for a mere second before the air hung heavy once more, polluted by his memories. Each moment played out behind his closed eyes, forcing him to relive the shame, the terror.

His head throbbed, bulging with a tornado of ugly thoughts and terrible feelings. He felt rigged to explode, so much adrenaline shot through him to the point he was paralysed; powerless to the pain as long as he fought for her. The knowledge that this choking feeling wouldn’t settle on its own almost made him tear the handle from the door, and he hissed as his teeth sunk deep into his lip.

Suddenly he couldn’t hear the rustle anymore, nor the cars buzzing by outside. The only sound that broke through was his own shaking breaths and the distant echo of a friend. Could he even call him that anymore? Had that relationship not been torn to shreds the moment he’d been followed into that alleyway? Even if it hadn’t, the deception of today was too much.

Shikamaru had pushed this too far for his nerves to handle. He had not felt so distraught, or so lost, since the night he’d lost his father, and even then he’d had others to turn to. Now he had _her_ , and while she was perfect—the best person in the world—she, too, was caught up in all this. And so he was trapped, scrambling around his mind searching for something—anything—that made him feel as smart as he supposedly was.

But every thought twisted his gut a little further, a little harder to comprehend every time he circled back to the same option; the only option.

The moment he heard the slow patter of footsteps, his eyes flickered open.

When he turned to look at her and brushed the straying hairs from his eyes, Temari had to fight to keep her posture strong. She almost let her shoulders fall, desperate to skid forward into his arms the moment he held them out to her.

But he never offered them, just stood, staring silently.

“Shikamaru, are you okay?” It was a stupid question, she knew that, but her love and her empathy put the words into her mouth before she could think. In an attempt to right herself, she took a few firm steps forward and reached out to pry his hand from the doorknob. “What’s wrong?”

“You know what’s wrong,” he told her, all too soft and controlled for her not to frown. He shook his head as she went to touch his face, and guided her hand back down to her side carefully.

Temari laced her fingers between his before he could argue, and tugged his other hand from the door by the wrist. “It’s just us now,” she soothed. “He’s gone.”

“But he’s _not_ gone—not for good. He’s still up here.” Shikamaru tapped his temple. “I can’t just stop thinking about it. Not after _that_.”

“We _can’t_ think about it,” she sighed. “We’ve got to forget it—pretend, remember?”

“You mean lie, which I’m already doing to everybody else,” he scoffed. “But I don’t want to lie to _myself_.”

“I’m not asking you to—”

“Temari, _you_ didn’t have to just make small talk with him. I had to talk about you, listen to him say these things about you, just to throw him off the trail. Do you know how _dirty_ that made me feel?” He gulped as he tugged at his hair, pushing past her into the living room. Her eyes followed him and she watched him rub his mouth, clearly uncomfortable with her silence. Groaning, he turned back to her, terrorised by his worry to a point of impatience. “Do you not get it?” he asked. “Don’t _you_ feel terrible, too?”

She felt her stomach churn and the temperature rise. “You really think I don’t?” she spat. “For weeks I went home to him, _slept_ _next to him_ , and you think I didn’t feel terrible every day? Why do you think I came here?”

Shikamaru’s scoff sent a shiver down her spine. “You didn’t just ‘come here’, Temari, you ran away. You lied to your husband, and you ran here knowing full well I would hide you, even when I knew that I shouldn’t, because you were too afraid to tell him.”

“And you _weren’t_?”

“Of course I was, but like the idiot you’ve made me, I still agreed!” he laughed. “I knew this would happen, that he’d catch us or come here. I knew it was a bad plan.” Shikamaru stepped closer to her, slowly closing the distance and Temari fought her weak knees to stay upright. “But I agreed to it anyway, and I’d do it again. Do you know why?”

She paused, her brow settling into a disquieted frown.

“Because I fucking love you,” he growled, “and I can’t deal with the idea of hurting you—even hurting _him_!”

Temari clenched her teeth. “You’re not hurting anyone, Shikamaru.”

“I’m hurting _myself_!”

A rough silence fell between them. The air shifted as Temari crossed her arms tight across her chest, shifting comfortably with the air as he looked down into her eyes. Not even a speck of resentment sat in his gaze, he was overwhelmingly lost. Suddenly she noticed how every sharp word had wavered. She saw the quiver of his bottom lip fighting to hold as sturdy as his frown and felt a breath hitch in her throat when she noticed the uneven rise and fall of his chest.

For a moment she felt herself back in the alleyway, tears washed clear by rain, and recalled the way he’d looked at her. Back then, amongst the screaming and the shortness for breath, all it had taken to heal the moment was a kiss. Holding one another close after the wait of a lifetime had been freeing beyond belief; a weight lifted from their shoulders so beautiful it wiped away the worry and the pain.

But this time Temari could see the man before as though he were made of glass, the cracks creeping menacingly down his neck deepening with each passing second. She dared not touch him for fear he might shatter and burrow shards of himself deep into her. Fumbling for the softest words she could muster, desperate to numb the inevitable sting, Temari found herself unable to speak.

Tears scratched at her eyes as it dawned on her what that look tried so desperately to say, but the blonde couldn’t bring herself to admit it until an unsettling hum bounced around the room. Shikamaru nodded slowly as his hands dug deep into his pockets. “We have to come clean, or we have to stop,” he said calmly. “And I don’t want to do this anymore than you do, but the longer we leave it, it’s only going to get worse. For everyone.”

“You don’t know that,” she whispered, shaking her head.

“Temari, he’s your husband, you’ve got to—”

“No!” she cried. “You don’t get to decide when _I’m_ ready to do something, or expect me to follow your fucking orders!”

“I’m not ordering you to—”

“What happened to ‘we’—that _we’d_ tell him when _we_ were ready to? Where did that go, Shikamaru?” Temari snarled, blinking away the few tears that threatened to fall. “Why is it suddenly my problem?”

He chuckled, a ghastly sound. “I never said you had to do it alone, love, I—”

“My husband,” she interrupted. “Why did you have to call him that?”

Shikamaru frowned.

“ _My_ husband, _my_ problem. That’s what it sounds like.”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it—don’t twist my words.”

“Then don’t treat me like a child!” She shook her head and looked down at their bare feet. “I could do it without you, you know? Just because I love you doesn’t mean I need you to bundle me up in cotton wool and hide me away!”

“Do you really think that’s what I’m trying to do here?” he sighed. “I’m not trying to decide anything for you, or asking you to do anything alone, but if we don’t stop—”

“No, I don’t want to stop!”

“Then we have to come clean!”

“No,” she said, her teeth gritted. “Everything will fall apart.” She heaved desperate breaths in and out as her head grew lighter, fuzzier with every word. “He’ll hate me, he’ll hate you even more, and the band—Shikamaru, the band!”

He looked at his feet as he turned away, shaking his head. “Are you serious?” he scoffed. “You think I care about the band?”

Temari scowled and raised her hands in disbelief. “It’s your job, Shikamaru—it’s _both_ of our jobs!”

“I don’t care about the fucking band, Temari—I want _you_!”

“If you just want me then why does it matter what we do? You’ve _got_ me!”

“Because I haven’t, and it’s _exhausting_ ,” he hissed, walking away. “I would’ve told him you were here if I could, but you weren’t ready; you needed me to protect you!”

“You’re wrong; I don’t _need_ you for anything!”

As the words fell from her mouth, Shikamaru collapsed down onto his couch, clumsily knocking the bass with his behind. In the corner of his eye, Temari stared down at her feet, fists balled in the doorway where she had followed him, and he wondered why she couldn’t understand. He didn’t feel as though he’d been rash—she must’ve known, at least down, that this was looming over the horizon. Shikamaru himself had felt it growing closer by the day, and today’s events saw the issue leap right into his lap, screaming to be heard.

But _she_ clearly couldn’t hear it.

As he watched her eyes squeeze shut and her features wrinkle, it felt for the first time as though he were in it alone. The way she shook her head left him almost feeling like the other guy, no more trusted or understood than the man waiting for her back home. He knew logically that wasn’t true, and even if it was he held no resentment, but that didn’t stop a hollow hole burrowing deep into his chest.

Shikamaru had a million to say, a thousand reasons and confirmations, but stayed silent as she crossed her arms tight across her chest as though to hide her body.

There was little point in talking if his words would fall on deaf ears and, after everything, he found himself too tired to try.

With a sigh, he turned to look at the bass beside him, and plucked the note she’d stuck to it from the body.

 _Always_ , she had written as a reminder for herself to accompany a few chords, her handwriting a perfect swirl. With no idea what it meant, Shikamaru felt powerless, and yet he held out the note as if it were an offering—a promise. He bit down on his lip as a familiar sting crept through his sinuses and looked up once more.

“Love, I think it’s time you went home.”

Temari lifted her head to see narrow eyes, quivering as they fought to stay on her, and her lips parted in disbelief. “What?”

“Go home,” he repeated. “I’m tired.”

She stopped closer and grabbed the note, flashing white-hot eyes across it before backing away and clamping it in her fist. “You don’t mean that.”

The way his gaze fell from her and landed on the floor in response left her speechless. She followed his hand as he slowly raised it to the blanket in the corner, and clenched her jaw as she stormed forward and collected everything together in her arms. As she hurried back to the bedroom, throwing on her clothes, she tried to ignore the smell in the air. Temari zipped up her bag and threw it over with a huff, and practically ran to the front door, stealing only the quickest glance back at the man slumped on the couch.

Only once she slammed the door behind her and brushed the sweaty hairs from her eyes did she pause. The gentle humming of his guitar drifted out the door and squeezed through the cracks in her facade, breaking it apart from the inside as her heart began to swell at the familiar run of notes.

But then he stopped, a jarring end to her song, and her chest caved in.

She turned, ready to knock and scream, but her hand wouldn’t comply. Instead she sniffed, feeling a single tear roll down her cheek, and took a calm step back. Temari didn’t grovel, despite how she knew she should. Her actions spoke for her better than words ever could, and she needed to take action, for him. 

Through all her fighting, Shikamaru had given her two clear options, but she knew in reality there was only one. Now was a time to talk, but not to the man behind that door, however much it hurt her to hear his breath hitch because of her snarls.

She fished the crumpled note from her pocket and carefully pried it apart, smoothing out the crinkles with a shaking sigh.

He was right; it was time to go home.

* * *

Temari took the longest route possible as she fought to find the best words for Neji, but that didn’t make it any easier. Every corner felt sharper—harder—as the rain pummelled the tarmac, freezing cold pellets against her knuckles. Her hands grew numb with the incessant rain, her grip tightening whenever she felt a shiver crawl across her back. Trees blurred together too quickly as she flew past them, her bike driving itself down the all too familiar streets, and so when she finally pulled up outside the house they shared, she still didn’t feel ready.

Twenty minutes of driving—on top of the five minutes it had taken her to force her shaking hands to pull her helmet off—and her brain had given her nothing. She knew herself too well to be surprised. After all, on the rare occasion words came easily to her, they never seemed to be right. Unlike Shikamaru, she never knew the right thing to say; she couldn’t bring herself to spend time analysing the best approach, always storming forward in all her stubborn glory, and facing the consequences when she was inevitably too brash.

But this situation was too delicate. It required precision and the softest of touches, something Temari wasn’t sure she could summon on command—not for just anyone, at least, even her husband. She cursed herself as she slung her bag over her shoulder and her helmet under her arm. How terrible the title sounded now; a stab in her stomach every time she heard it. The way it had stung as it fell from Shikamaru’s lips, a quiver in his monotone voice, had been impossible to listen to. The word alone sent her stomach into a raging storm of shame, but in his tone it twisted all the more violently.

“You idiot, Temari,” she hissed as she started on the treacherous walk to the front door.

He knew how to be diplomatic, how to present facts and twist them in his favour, and it was a trait that had always got under her skin. The many interviews she’d sat in on with reporters, and watched how he’d smirked and chatted the band’s way out of uncomfortable situations, had left her in awe; jealous of how well he could handle himself. It was as though he could hear people’s responses before they’d voiced them, anticipating every alley of conversation like he’d laid the very bricks they walked on.

Right now, that’s all Temari needed. She wanted a reason to feel steady in her footing as she closed the gap, but he wasn’t there to grab onto as she tripped. The fact he wasn’t, however, was entirely her fault; a fact that filled Temari to the brim with guilt. If only she’d have listened to the man. Being blinded by fear, however unusual for her, was no reason to ignore him. He was wise and she loved him, more than anything the rest of this world had to offer, and she’d blanked him despite his kindness.

In her stomach she felt something churn and hurried towards the hedgerow when she felt the bile creep up her throat, doubling over. Never before had her emotion overwhelmed her to such an extent. How typical, she thought, that in this exact moment—the moment of her life she needed to be stronger than ever—her body betrayed her, weaker than it had ever felt. As she wiped her mouth, she felt tears brewing in her waterline, waiting for their chance to escape through the heaving, but she blinked them away.

 _You don’t cry over men_ , she told herself. _Not anymore—not again_. 

Her breath hitches as she saw a flicker of the television through the window and the outline of the hands she’d held so many times. Inside her the anxiety bubbled as she took the final few steps and shoved the key into the lock. Before she could back out, she twisted the key and eased open the door, leaving it to quietly click shut behind her.

An eerie quiet swept through the corridor, only the faintest hum coming from the living room, and Temari slowly rested her helmet and bag on the table beside her. She felt suddenly as though every eye in every picture lining the walls fell onto her with a darkened frown, her will almost shattering with the pressure. These walls she’d painted began to contract around her, constricting her to her place by the door. They reminded her how she wasn’t welcome—this was barely her home anymore, just a stack of bricks housing a man she’d tried so hard, and failed, to love.

She turned to the mirror on the table and saw the red surrounding her eyes. Rubbing at them violently, she fought to steady her breaths, imagining a perfect world in which she opened her eyes to see Shikamaru looming behind her. He’d place a hand on her shoulder, nothing more, and she would know what to do—what to say. Just because he was there, she was okay.

Despite how when she tore her sleeve from her eyes she couldn’t feel his touch or his breath on her neck, Temari felt her shoulders loosen slightly. They fell back, a little more confident for a brief moment. _You can do this,_ she told herself. _You’ve got to do this._ After a month of pretending, she could pretend she knew what to do for as long as this conversation might take, couldn’t she?

With a deep breath she followed the sound of the television and saw Neji staring intently at the flashing screen. He frowned, his mouth agape, in his own world. Even when she cleared her throat, he didn’t raise his eyes, and Temari gulped as she shuffled a little closer.

“Neji,” she said, her voice as bold as she could muster, “I need to tell you something.”

There was a pause, and her heart sank as the man before her shook his head.

“Whatever it is has to wait, Temari.”

His head turned, eyes wide, and she felt the bile creeping up once more.

“Shikamaru’s just been arrested.”


	12. Shot Through The Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: 'Shot Through The Heart' by Bon Jovi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there - I hope you're all doing well. Just wanted to apologise for the slight mess in schedule and also for the lack of comment replies recently. Please know I've read them all, am so unbelievably grateful, and will reply the moment I can! Thank you so much and I hope you enjoy :)

“He what?” Temari choked out.

Neji had already dashed across the room and grabbed the phone, dialling rapidly with his nimble fingers, by the time the word escaped her. He shot her a look, a flash of fear poorly masked by a smile, and Temari found herself stumbling forward towards him. She had forgotten how to walk, using every ounce of her strength to fall into this most simple pattern until she couldn’t take it anymore. The sound of her boots scuffing against the carpet ceased and she froze, staring helplessly ahead.

“What do you mean he’s been arrested, I was just—” She stopped herself, biting down hard on her lip. “What do you _mean_?”

With a sigh and the phone pressed against his ear, Neji toyed nervously with his headband. “Do you remember the woman he and Kankuro brought to rehearsal a while ago? Azumi, her name was,” he asked slowly, waiting for her to cautiously nod her head once, barely able to move. “Well, according to the news just then, her body was found a day or so ago and—”

“Her _body_?” If her voice hadn’t cracked, Temari was sure she would’ve shrieked, suffocated on her own quickening breaths. “No, Neji, you can’t mean—”

“Kiba?” he asked quickly into the receiver, turning away. “Kiba, have you seen it?”

Powerlessly fumbling for words, Temari turned to look at the television. Every word on the screen flashed so bright, and the tinny sound of Kiba screeching down the line deafened her as she squinted to read. But before she could focus on more than the familiar name scrolling across the screen, it disappeared, replaced by a photograph of a grinning football player.

It seemed insane to her that to anybody else this was just another nugget of news to be consumed, and sent shivers down her spine thinking of how people might sit at home gossipping about him. She understood that to the majority it might’ve seemed exciting, but what soared through her couldn’t have been further from excitement. She watched with anticipation for the images to flash back to his name, paralysed in place and praying for more information.

But it never came, cutting to more images of this smiling sportsman. How the focus could shift, how the interest wavered with each passing moment. Surely they realised that it wasn’t just another story to some people; that people who knew him—cared about him—wouldn’t want to see men celebrating. Temari felt sweat begin to seep out of every pore, pins and needles stabbing every muscle in her body.

“No, I still don’t quite understand what he’s being arrested for, either,” she heard Neji say. “The reporter said it was an overdose.”

Her eyes shot up, fist clenching tight as she gritted her teeth. The incessant voice crackling down the line went on, growing louder, angrier, with every word.

She wanted to flash back in time. If only she’d stayed with Kankuro at the car that rehearsal day, or insisted the woman left before she could speak to him. Or maybe, had she had the guts to knock again, she’d never have left him behind. He’d have her then, at least.

But in a perfect world she’d jump back in time to the bar, back to the moment that could’ve changed everything. That way she’d never have to intercept Azumi, never abandon him in his apartment to face this all alone, never end up standing here, hopeless and terrified before a man who wouldn't have even been her husband.

This, all of this, was her fault.

The guilt swirling in her stomach was more than just a sickness; it was a disease.

Neji sighed. “It’s _definitely_ his jacket they found, there’s no question about that. That’s why they’ve taken him in, Kiba. They have to have evidence to do that.”

His features scrunched up as he turned back to Temari. She could feel herself scowling at him as the fear bubbled up into fury. The way he spoke, so factually and brutally, sat so uncomfortably in her chest, and his tone crawled beneath her skin. Neji had always shown her an overwhelming, and frankly unfounded, level of trust, and there was something upsetting about seeing him not show the same for his bandmate—his friend. Temari’s eyes narrowed as she shook her head in disbelief until he finally sighed, impatient.

“No, Kiba, I don’t believe it any more than you do.” Nervously, as he caught her eye, Neji bit down on his lip. “Call Kankuro,” he commanded, “and I’ll call Tenten. We’re stronger together, and—” He paused and rubbed his eyes. “Right, okay. One last thing—they said she was a dealer, didn’t they? She never sold _you_ anything, did she?”

There was a beat.

“Right, good,” he said, sighing with relief. “We don’t want more links back to us all—back to Shikamaru.” His eyes lifted again, right back into Temari’s worried gaze. “On any other day, I’d say come here, but Temari just got home from her brother’s early…”

Her mouth fell open, ready to fight, but no words managed to force their way out. When Neji saw her fumbling, he gave her a kind smile. 

“We _can’t_ go to the bar right now, you know that,” he sighed, “but Tenten’s roommate just moved out. We could go—” Neji squeezed his eyes shut for a second as he listened, sighing. “Okay, yes, you’re right. I’ll just meet you there.”

He put the phone down and hurried to the front door instantly, but Temari found herself unable to follow. Her boots were planted in the carpet, each fibre pulling her down. Mouth dry and eyes stinging, her bottom lip trembled.

“Neji?”

Temari didn’t recognise her own voice, and when he turned the corner, his eyes stormed with confusion and worry, she didn’t know what more to say.

This wasn’t who she was. She wasn’t helpless.

“Everyone can come here,” she finally said, crossing her arms over her chest.

Neji sighed and finished buttoning up his jacket. “Temari, no.”

“Don’t tell me no; this is my home, too. I can decide for myself if—”

“We’re going to the station,” he said plainly.

“Then I’m coming with you.” A shudder ran across her shoulders as though a finger traced menacingly down the back of her neck. “I’m your manager, I should be there.”

“You’re also my wife, and you’ve travelled a long way home,” he persisted, grabbing her shoulders and smiling patiently. “I’m sorry you’ve had to come back to this, but please just rest.”

“I don’t want to just sit here and wait when I could help Shikamaru—”

“Temari,” he said sternly, “you’re soaking wet—shivering—and you look exhausted. Please.” He wiped a water droplet from her chin with raised eyebrows. “Clean yourself up and I will call you the moment we know anything.”

Temari could feel the pain spreading from scrunched features as she frowned, but before she could argue, or even find the strength to wriggle free from his meek grip, Neji had pressed a firm kiss on her forehead and backed away.

“I’ll be back soon,” he told her, tying his laces. 

“They won’t let you see him, and even if they do you’re going to get swarmed! Neji, I—”

“I know that, I’m not stupid, but Kiba’s right—we can’t just sit and do nothing,” he sighed. “And I just want you to be safe.”

Her whole body cramped as her eyes fell, and she nodded, rubbing her mouth nervously. His compassion, however unfounded, had knocked her onto her back. “Forget about me,” she said slowly. “Help him.”

“We’ll try.” She saw him twist his wedding ring around nervously as he glanced between her and the door. There was an uneasy softness in his eyes, polluted by worry as he mumbled carefully, “I love you.”

Temari’s bottom lip quivered as she nodded once more, fighting to keep her eyes on him. As they floated to the floor she tugged her hair from the messy ponytails. If any words were set to keep her stuck in place, he’d just laid them at her feet, and as hard as she tried Temari couldn’t bring herself to follow him. “Good luck,” she said through shaky breaths.

Only once the latch clicked did she feel herself fall to pieces. Temari collapsed to her knees, face buried into the couch cushions as headlights flooded in through the windows, heaving out the tears she wanted so desperately to release. But nothing came, just painful wheezes scratching at the back of her throat. Her eyes felt red raw, torn by the image of his face flashing up on the TV screen. When she closed them, he was all she saw. His face had burned into her vision as though she’d been staring at the sun, a blind spot she was sure she’d be burdened with forever.

In her ears she could hear the hum of him singing, his laugh tuning out the traffic and the broadcast without a second thought. She felt his fingertips trace across the back of her hand as she clenched her fist in distress. Even when she muttered to herself—cursed herself—she could feel his figure looming over her.

She longed to be his shadow. Already she felt herself paper thin, sliding in and out of the cracks of reality. It was an endless game that ground to a halt the moment she was bound to him. Suddenly, as they joined together, she was made of gold, precious and strong; moulded by his touch and his words.

But now here she was on the floor, shattering with each syllable the broadcast said. If she could just be his shadow, she’d never have been able to leave him behind. He wouldn’t be alone wherever they were holding him; she’d slip through the cracks of any window or door and be right at his feet, or the wall beside him. Even in silence, he would have his company and she would have his.

Her stupidity in listening—in leaving as he had commanded—bred only loneliness for them both. She knew he would be too preoccupied right now to think of her. Poked and prodded for information, Shikamaru wouldn’t have a spare moment to think of her, and here she was; her only companion, his voice strolling about her head.

“That’s enough,” she hissed as she tore her face from the cushion. Her face contorted as she scrambled to snap off the television and let loose a painful shout: “Enough!”

Temari ran to her phone and rubbed her aching eyes as she fought to dial. She pressed it against her ear and fought to catch her breath. It seemed to ring endlessly, a monotonous buzzing rattling around her head as she paced nervously. “Kankuro,” she spat down the line when it finally ceased. “Kankuro, are you there?”

There was a pause and Temari found herself growling as she wrestled her hair back into it’s ties, head cocked to one side.

“Temari?”

Her eyes widened. “Ino?” she gasped. “Wait, why are you…” She looked down at the number and instead of her brother’s name she saw, in bold letters, “Kiba…”

“He was gone the moment he put the phone down, left it behind and all.” She paused. “What’s wrong? Do you need him?”

Temari rubbed her eyes. “No, I messed up. I meant to call my brother, sorry.”

“Don’t say sorry,” gushed Ino. “Everything’s gone crazy—you're allowed to mess up.”

While her voice wasn’t at all soft, there was something calming about the way she spoke. Her sharp tone left Temari struck by how glad she was to hear another woman’s voice, and she couldn’t help but sigh.

“I thought you’d have gone with the band.”

She gulped and stared out the window at her bike, debating hopping on it and flying away. But when she noticed her shaking fingertips and clenched them tightly together, she shook her head, reminding herself. “I would’ve, but just got back from Gaara’s out of town and Neji told me I should rest,” she lied. “I wouldn’t usually listen, but I look and feel like shit right now—for a _multitude_ of reasons.”

“Oh, wow, do I feel you,” Ino groaned. “I would’ve followed Kiba right out the door if I could physically get off the couch.”

Temari frowned. “Are you sick?”

“Cramps,” she corrected. “Like, you know, _cramps_ cramps…”

Fidgeting, Temari felt a sudden sheen of sweat flash across her neck. She looked back at the black screen of the television, taunting her with its silence, and chewed on her lip. “Right.” The word was loaded with finality, and the silence that followed eased a menacing pressure building in her stomach. Only once a moment had passed and Temari had awkwardly cleared her throat did Ino speak again.

“So, if you're not there, are the boys alone?”

“Neji said he was going to call Tenten. She’s level headed enough.”

Ino snorted.

“What?”

“Compared to Kiba, maybe,” she teased, “but Neji’s the anchor for everyone—I don’t need to tell you that.” There was a pause, a gentle rustle down the line. “Do you know if Shikamaru’s got a lawyer yet?”

She shrugged as though Ino would be able to hear her before gritting her teeth. “I don’t know; I don’t think so.”

“Okay, we'll cover that.”

“Ino, I don’t know any lawyers—”

“You’re talking to one, Temari,” she scoffed. 

Temari’s eyes widened, but she couldn’t help laughing as a wave of relief washed over her. “You’re a _lawyer_? I thought you were a model.”

“I _am_ a model, but I went to law school.” She heard Ino sigh. “Parents' decision, of course. Kiba was surprised, too,” she groaned, “and honestly I was expecting him to brag about it at least a _bit_. If it was _my_ girlfriend who was just on the cover of Konoha Krush _and_ she could whip whatever arrogant man came up against her in the courtroom, I’d definitely brag—”

“Ino?”

“Hm?”

“No offence,” started Temari, wincing at her own words, “but all that really matters right now is if—”

“If I can help Shikamaru?” Ino interrupted. “Of course I can, Temari. I wouldn’t have brought it up otherwise.”

In the moment of silence that followed, Temari somehow found herself smiling. She wished she could reach down the line and envelop the woman on the other end in the most incredible hug. For a second, she could ignore the sickness swirling in her stomach, and the ever-present weight of guilty lies on her chest, focused only on the ache of her cheeks as she grinned.

Never before had the tiniest speck of relief overcome her so drastically. It felt childish, but Temari couldn’t bring herself to shake away a good feeling, even if just for a moment. While logically, everything was still just as awful as it had been before—maybe even worse, for all she knew—she tried to ignore the ominous hurdles, the smile she wore a shield as her mind ran forward, praying he would come into view. Her mind leaped over every barrier right to the moment she’d be able to hold him again; _if_ she’d be able to hold him again.

She felt her smile falter, her expression wavering as that hope slowly retreated into the darkness. The relief washed away in one foul swoop, a dim light swallowed by the storm growling away through the window.

Nervously she cleared her throat, chewing on her lip. “Did Kiba call Kankuro already?”

“Well, he was off like a shot and left his phone behind so unless he’s stopped at a phone box—”

“No, then,” Temari groaned. “So he’s probably still at home.”

Ino hummed down the line before taking a deep breath. “Temari, why were you ringing him so frantically?”

She frowned. “Excuse me?”

“When I answered the phone, you sounded so…”

 _Stupid_.

“ _Lost_ ,” said Ino, “like you had no idea what to do.”

Temari could feel her lip begin to quiver. She was tired of the ups and down the day had brought, and how, with each event, she’d felt herself fall deeper into a bottomless pit. The morning had begun so beautifully—wrapped up in Shikamaru’s arms, the rest of the world a silent mystery—and yet here she stood now. Her eyes bulged, desperate to cry tears that refused to fall. Words clawed at her throat as they fought to be voiced.

It was no secret to her that she was lost. Through wrong turns and confused thoughts, the drive home which should’ve taken her thirty minutes had taken her over an hour. And, when she’d arrived home at dusk, her power and her determination faded into nothing. She wasn’t just unsure what to do, she was terrified to do anything at all. 

In this state, she wasn’t herself, and it was the most unbearable feeling.

“I have absolutely no clue, and I hate it,” she admitted through gritted teeth. “And I wanted to talk to my brother—my little brother—and make sure he was okay, because Shikamaru sure as hell won’t be.”

“I can handle Shikamaru.”

“But until you can get there, he’ll be on his own. He’ll be—”

“He’ll be fine,” assumed Ino. “I’ve known Shikamaru for years, and can say with certainty that he’ll manage. Even you must know, from the interviews he’s done for the band, that he knows how to handle himself under pressure.”

Temari nodded slowly. “You’re right,” she sighed. “I’m sorry. My mind is all over the place.”

“Oh, trust me, I understand.” She heard Ino giggle halfheartedly. “Now is not a good time to have to deal with mood swings, I can tell you.”

Reluctantly, Temari forced out an anxious chuckle as she rubbed at her neck. She looked down at herself then back at the door. “Do you want me to call Neji and explain everything?”

“No,” she said firmly. “Call your brother—keep him in the loop.” There was a beat. “I’ll load up on painkillers and try and get down there now, just in case he needs anything.”

“But, if you’re going, shouldn’t I—”

“Trust me, Temari. Shikamaru and I have got this.”

With that the line went dead. Temari’s eyes whipped around the room nervously, her head spinning as she ran to the door. She grabbed her keys and helmet, toying with the call button on Kankuro’s contact page. Her finger hovered over it like a detonator, a shiver rolling through her body as reached for the door handle. But, just as her hand met the cold metal, the phone began to ring.

Instantly the woman fell back, dropping the keys and retreating to sit on the bottom stair as a hand raked through her hair. Without thinking she accepted the call and put the phone to her ear.

“Temari?” she heard Kankuro’s panicked voice say. “Temari, did you hear?”

A thousand words, a thousand feelings, ripped through her head, but in the end all she could manage was a shaky hum.

“Are you okay?”

Another hum. “I think so.”

There was a pause. “Where are you? Are you still at Shikamaru’s?”

“Neji’s,” she winced, rubbing her eyes. “Sorry, _home_. I’m home.”

“Is he there?” Kankuro asked, his question slower, more measured, than the previous. “Can I talk to him?”

Temari sighed. “Him and the others went to the station to try and help Shikamaru.”

“So why are you—”

“Neji told me to stay behind.”

“And since when do _you_ listen to what other people tell you to do?”

She chuckled, and felt a warmth in her chest when he did the same. But as the seconds passed and they faded into an ominous silence, the crackles of the phone line began to send jitters through her body. Her stomach flipped once more. “It feels like I’m broken, Kankuro,” she finally told him. “Ever since I found out he’s in trouble, I can’t think like me, or act like me.” Temari brought her knees to her chest, balanced precariously on the bottom step. She could feel the cold of her wet jeans through her shirt, and shuddered. “How can I love him, yet sit here and do _nothing_? If it was you, I’d go wild—yell at anyone who’d listen until you were out and you were safe—but with Shikamaru I’m just some helpless little girl, sitting at home and waiting. Whether it’s just this, or the lies and the hiding as well, I don’t recognise myself.”

Kankuro cleared his throat.

“I hate it,” she choked out. “It was almost over, all the sickness and the aching; that’s why I came home. Shikamaru tried to reason with me and instead of being a team, I got us into this stupid argument, ran off like a _child_ and left him all alone. I was finally going to tell Neji about us—I wanted it all to go away and be able to run back to Shikamaru straight after. But I never should’ve fucking left!” Her breaths began to hitch in her throat as it closed shut. “It’s my fault. He shouldn’t have been alone there—I should’ve stayed, or asked him to come with me, but I was a fucking coward!”

Finally, at long last, she felt a white-hot tear sera down her cheek. Nothing felt better. There was no cathartic epiphany, just emptiness, and a pain crawling across her forehead as she scowled. As she began to cry—properly cry, for the first time in years—Temari heard her brother shush her calmly.

“You really do love him, don’t you?” she heard him say.

“More than I want to.” She sobbed. “More than I _should_.”

Kankuro sighed. “I’m coming over.”

Temari’s eyes shot open. “No,” she cried, her voice raking her throat, “no, you have to go help him, Kankuro. Please.”

“And you say you’re not yourself,” he scoffed. “Shikamaru has everyone right now. _You’re_ the one who needs me, you selfless idiot.” The soft chuckle felt as though he’d thrown a blanket across her shoulders. “Have you eaten yet?”

“No,” she sighed.

He tutted. “I’ll come via the shop and get some snacks for you then, okay?”

Temari paused for a moment, humming nervously.

“Is there anything you need?”

Need. She _needed_ Shikamaru, and she _needed_ him to be safe.

She thought back to her conversation with Ino chewed her lip as her eyes fluttered shut. “Can I text you a list?”

“Just tell me.”

“Kankuro…”

“Right,” he winced, “girl stuff. Got it.”

His childish noises never failed to make her laugh. “Thank you, Kankuro.”

A little chuckle and a sigh shone through the speaker. “Anything for you, Tem. I’ll stay as long as you need me to—until Neji gets home.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “He’ll be okay— _you’ll_ be okay.”

Temari hugged her knees tighter, imagining feeling safe in her brother’s arms as she nodded. “I hope you’re right.”


End file.
